From Utopia: The Final Hunger Games
by Hoprocker
Summary: It's been five years since the 75th Hunger Games drew to an abrupt end. Everyone thought it was over-that it was the beginning of a new era. Then came a decision that changed everything. Now, 24 children of the Capitol are going to face the very bloodshed they used to celebrate. But little do they know, this Hunger Games is going to be unlike any other they've ever experienced...
1. A New Era

Five years.

Five years had passed since the Capitol fell and President Paylor rose to power. Five years since the Hunger Games were abolished and every last arena destroyed.

What followed was supposed to be an era of rebuilding a nation, putting forth efforts to reclaim peace. Instead, there was nothing but unrest.

The thirst for revenge was strong within many of Panem's citizens who had once occupied the districts. They refused to integrate with former Capitolites. Their hearts cried out for justice. Letting the people who gleefully watched their children die, who placed bets on the amount of blood that would be spilt, go unpunished? It was downright inane.

It wasn't enough that some had lost their homes during the bombings. It wasn't enough that they lost their beloved president. They deserved to go through the same torture the districts once had to endure.

Some were more outspoken about this topic than others. Protesters could often be found in every corner of Panem, some more violent towards Capitolites than others. There was only so much President Paylor could do to protect these unfortunate souls. A decision had to be made.

And so it was: the first Capitol Hunger Games and the final Hunger Games was given the green light.

The Capitolites were outraged. The districts, however, were somewhat satisfied. A single year couldn't take away the pain of seventy-five, but they felt it was better than nothing.

Little did they know, things would be different this year.

"Lucky for everyone, I was picked to be Head Gamemaker. They don't know what to expect. By the end of this, everyone's gonna be calling me a mad genius! A mad, bloody genius!"

A middle-aged man was currently typing away at a computer, muttering ecstatically under his breath. Every so often, he would flick a window off his screen, into the air where it hovered obediently. Eventually, he was surrounded in a cloud of floating notes.

With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair and observed the many weightless screens around him. Sometimes he still couldn't get over the technology that had belonged to the Capitol. It was truly amazing—and they were making advances all the time. Some of them thanks to his own brilliant mind. He would have never gotten his chance to shine if it weren't for the rebellion.

The Head Gamemaker glanced at a mirror across the room. His forehead shone with sweat and his square glasses rested crookedly on his nose. He ran a hand through his caramel-brown hair, which seemed to be getting a tad thinner every day. He knew this job wasn't good for his health. _Oh, but it's so much fun…and don't even get me started on the pay…_

Suddenly, the phone at his desk buzzed. The Gamemaker snatched it up instantly. "What?"

"Got that apple juice for you, sir! Can I come in?" A chirpy voice answered on the other side.

"Yes, yes. Of course," The Head Gamemaker said. He put down the phone with a click, and then pressed a button that unlocked the door to his quarters. You couldn't be too careful. Head Gamemakers had a nasty little habit of being brutally murdered, and he wasn't about to join their ranks.

A young man with sandy hair and big blue eyes came bustling into the room. Though he was fresh out of college, he looked (and sounded) a great deal younger. "Here you are, sir!" He said, proudly holding up a small juice box. "By the way, Miss Paylor is here to see you."

"WHAT?! Why didn't you say so earlier? What is WRONG with you?!" At once, the Head Gamemaker began scrambling to clean up his desk. He threw all of the windows back into the computer and shoved countless papers into drawers, attempting to hide them from view. Then he whipped around to face his office's mirror, adjusting his blue tie and glasses.

His assistant just held out the juice box. "I'm sorry. Drink this, you'll feel better!"

The Head Gamemaker tore it out of his hands and shook it at his face. "How many times have I told you?! How sophisticated can you look, drinking out of a godforsaken juice box? Go get me a bloody wine glass!"

"_Ahem_."

Both turned to see a woman who looked to be in her 30s standing at the door. It was not President Paylor, as the Head Gamemaker had expected. Instead, it was a small woman dressed in business attire, with reddish brown hair tied back in a low bun. Her hazel eyes were narrowed with annoyance and she was tapping her foot impatiently.

"Thimblelina!" The Head Gamemaker gasped.

The woman put a hand on her hip, looking more irritated by the second. "It's Miss Paylor when I'm working. Show a little respect." She looked around the pigpen of a room, wrinkling her nose. "God, it smells like a daycare in here."

The Head Gamemaker's shoulders relaxed slightly. "I…I thought for sure you were the president."

"My niece? Please. She has more important things to do." Thimblelina made her way towards the Gamemaker's desk, stepping over a few balls of crumpled-up paper to reach him. "I see you've been busy. Did you manage to catch the Reapings, at least?"

The Head Gamemaker stared at her blankly. "…The Reapings were today?"

"Yes," Thimblelina scoffed. "How did you manage to forget?"

"I've been wrapped up in my work!" The Gamemaker said defensively.

"He's busier than a beaver," His assistant added helpfully.

The Head Gamemaker shot him a glare. "Where's that wine glass, Jarek?"

"Yes, sir!" Jarek said, scampering out of the room as quickly as he could go.

Once the two were left in peace, the Head Gamemaker turned his attention back to his visitor. "So why have you come?"

Thimblelina smirked, tempted to pick on her colleague for his childish taste in drinks. But she was on a business run and she didn't want to be here longer than she had to. "This." She handed him a folder.

The Head Gamemaker opened it to reveal a list of names. As his eyes roved over the paper, they grew wider and wider. "The tributes," he breathed in awe. "…It's really happening."

_Males_  
_ Apollo Brandt (18)_  
_ Mobius Fraus (14)_  
_ Perrin Halliday (15)_  
_ Zion Kim (18)_  
_ Perseus "Percy" King (13)_  
_ Ryiero Lynn (16)_  
_ Locce Palenciste (14)_  
_ Lancelot "Lance" Palmer (12)_  
_ Antony Byron Phillis (16)_  
_ Duke Travers (16) _  
_ Casca Vaesley (17)_  
_ Chip Weiger (17)_

_ Females_  
_ Eugenia Angelis (15) _  
_ Judith Batiatus (18) _  
_ Daphne Beaumont (18) _  
_ Elara Blackwood (18) _  
_ Junisse Cranton (17)_  
_ Gliss Feenix (17)_  
_ Reyn Monrove (13) _  
_ Brianne Ravelle (16) _  
_ Viatrix Reivan (18)_  
_ Cicely Tate (18) _  
_ Horatia Vici (15)_  
_ Tullia "Tully" Voss (18)_

"It is…" Thimblelina murmured. "Hopefully, this will solve a few of our problems. Then our nation can finally start focusing on what really matters."

A bout of silence passed between the two of them, both lost in their thoughts. Thimblelina broke it with a clap of her hands.

"So! What can you tell me about the arena?"

The Head Gamemaker let out a nervous chuckle and tucked the folder away. "Nothing, I'm afraid. But I promise it'll be spectacular—as will the Games."

"Damn it," Thimblelina said, mocking frustration. "Well, I tried. I doubt I'll see you until all of this is over, so good luck." She held out her hand.

The Head Gamemaker grinned and shook it. "Thanks, love. And to you!"

"Thank you," Thimblelina smiled. "It's been a pleasure, Head Gamemaker Corr. Make these Hunger Games one the nation will never forget."

"Oh, don't worry, love," Head Gamemaker Corr said, a devious grin unfurling on his face. "I won't."

Thimblelina just rolled her eyes.

**First of all, this is a story I adopted from my sister. She came up with a lot of cool ideas, but since she takes her time writing (perfecting the utmost quality!) she didn't think she would be able to pull it off. I thought there was too much awesome to never see the light of day, so I offered to write it. And so, here we are! Just know that a lot of ideas are hers, including the premise, the arena, and many other basic qualities you'll find in the story. Along the way, she'll probably help me with ideas for the characters/plot as she always does! Give her an internet hug for all her hard work. Actually, don't, she hates hugs.**

**Next, this is an AU, though I'm sure you realized that already. Yes, there's gonna be a Capitol Games despite there never being one in canon. And yes…I'm bringing back characters from my past stories to fill the spots of characters such as the Head Gamemaker, Caesar Flickerman, victors, etc. The characters are a mix of fan favorites and Hoprocker favorites. They're all people who died too, so rejoice and be happy that they're back from the grave! Sorry, the three victors won't be making appearances because they got lots of extra stuff plus a huge sendoff so I'm giving other characters a chance to shine again. And since I don't want everyone to be in their 40s or 50s, their ages are more mixed up. As for which ones will be coming back…you'll just have to wait and see! ;)**

**NOW LET'S SPILL SOME BLOOD HUNGER GAMES STYLE YEAAAAH!**


	2. Five Years After

**Yes. An update. We definitely don't have all the characters yet, but I couldn't keep myself from writing some. Here is your first batch of tributes! Congratulations to the creators whose characters made the cut! And for those still waiting to hear or working on their profiles, hang in there! ****If you're still in the process of making a character and need some advice, my sister (PinaColadaFox) has an old guide and a pet peeve list that might help you out. :P**

**Also, things are different now. The Reapings as you know them are gone. I like to call these chapters 'Character Intros.' Tried to keep them relatively short and sweet, but give you a good taste of every character. And wait till you do taste em, they taste delicious- /shot/ I'm not a cannibal.**

**I don't want to spend ages on Pre-Games so some chapters are being condensed. There will be six chapter of Character Intros. I was going to have less, but I realized it's not good to crowd a bunch of characters in one chapter and since these bits are shorter than usual, I should keep them separate so they're grounded into your mind better. Thankfully, there will be no Goodbye chapters or Train Rides. /Hallelujah/ Let's get to it!**

**(BTW Big thank you to lunarisque for the cover! :)**

**Day Before Reaping Day**

_Good stuff cheap._

With some difficulty, Lancelot erected the sign outside his shop. If you could call a pile of boxes a shop, that is. But the boxes were filled with all sorts of food, drink, and valuable trinkets; some of them his old possessions, others he had bribed off the other unsuspecting orphans.

Speaking of them, they were currently swarming the streets, trying to scrounge up money from passersby. This was one of the days they took to the sidewalks and tried to procure money for the orphanage. Most of them just begged for donations as their pathetic selves. Others put on little performances with battered instruments or their own scratchy voices.

By the end of the day, no one's profit came close to Lance's. But he would pretend he had only made as much as the others, and keep the rest of the money for himself.

"Lottie!"

Lance looked up to see his ten-year old sister, Guinevere, approaching. She looked a great deal like her brother, both being half-Asian with pale skin and almond-shaped eyes. The only difference was her hair was perfectly straight, while his was messy and unkempt. She offered her brother a big smile when she reached him.

He did not return it. "Hello, Gwen," Lance said, returning his attention to his work. "How many times have I told you to not call me Lottie?" He set a shiny locket, a bottle of "wine," and a candy bar on the large box he used as a table. Hopefully, these would attract some customers.

"Sorry, Lancey. Can I watch you work?" Gwen asked, leaning forward to take a peek into one of the boxes.

"No. Go work an innocent pedestrian for their cash. You're good at that," He told her simply.

She let out a deep sigh. "Fine."

As she turned and hurried off, Lance called after her, "And stay safe!"

She pretended not to hear him. He just shook his head as her figure retreated down the crumbled road. He didn't mean to be so short with her. He just wanted to bring in a good haul for today.

_Because tomorrow's the Reaping, _he thought sourly. _Turned twelve just in time for it. __And knowing my luck, it'll be off to the arena for me._

His mood brightened considerably when he spotted his favorite customer lurking nearby. Lance liked to call him Genius in his head. _Genius _was a teenaged idiot who was constantly trying to fill his life with cheap alcohol and drugs in order to forget what a failure he was. Lance wondered how long it would take him to realize the marijuana he bought was really oregano, and the alcohol, grape juice.

After a few minutes of nervous glances, the teenager approached. "Hey," he said in a low voice, as if his mother might be hiding in one of the boxes. "So, uh, I was here last time and…I bought some wine…"

"I remember," Lance said, wishing he would cut to the chase.

"Well, it tasted exactly like grape juice. So…"

_Hm. Looks like Genius is beginning to wise up. Took him long enough. _"That's because they're made of the same thing," Lance said without missing a beat.

"Really?"

"Really."

Genius paused. Lance could practically see the cogs turning in his head—at an alarmingly slow rate. "But still…" Genius went on, "I don't feel any different when I drink it."

Lance pretended to consider this. "Hm. Must be high tolerance. It's a common thing. But if you want the full experience, you'll need at least five more bottles. Because I'm generous, I'll give you the fifth one free. Deal?"

"Sweet." Genius's face broke out in an ear-to-ear grin. He fished in his pocket for money and handed it to Lance. "Keep the change."

"Thank you," Lance said, forcing himself to return the smile. He pulled five bottles of grape juice (all with the labels torn off) out of one box and gave them to Genius. Genius gathered them up in his arms, glanced around nervously, and set off for home. Lance was happy for him. If he happened to be spotted by a Peacekeeper, they would let him continue his grape juice addiction without fuss.

Lance began to count the money. While he was looking down, someone approached his shop. "Can I help you?" He asked, thinking it was another customer.

"Lancelot, why are you selling the ingredients I bought? All of this food is for the orphanage." A lanky man with mousy brown hair and a slouching posture stood before him.

It wasn't a customer. It was Fischer, a District 3 dropout who was now the orphanage cook. At least, that's what he was supposed to be. Since his food was barely edible, Lance did most of the cooking. It was a good way to garner respect and favors from the others, including this sorry 20-year old. He always made Fischer do the cleaning and buy ingredients, but he made sure to help him in return by keeping the other orphans from bullying him. What a sorry excuse for a human being.

Thinking fast, Lance put on his best apologetic expression. "I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you. There was a bit of a surplus. I thought I'd sell some of the food at a higher price so we could afford new beds for the orphanage. Some of them are falling apart."

Fischer stared at Lance for a long moment, his eyes tired and defeated. A small smile creased his lips. "You're a good kid," the young man said, giving Lance an awkward pat on the head. "Real smart. Wish I had your brain." Then, with a small wave, he left. "Keep up the good work."

Lance didn't bother telling him that he didn't plan on buying the orphanage new beds. Still, the money was for a good cause: his sister's education. Instead of telling Fischer the truth, Lance just waved back. "Don't worry. I will."

* * *

As soon as the school bell rang, Eugenia packed up her bag in an orderly fashion and prepared to head home. All around her, she could hear other 15-year olds in her class wishing each other good luck, some even saying their farewells. Just in case they were reaped tomorrow. It was pathetic to listen to.

At the desk next to hers, a group of girls were conversing about something. "...parents said I could host a sleepover party. Just to ease the tension," one said in an obvious whisper. "What do you guys say?"

"Yeah! I love parties!" One gushed, and was immediately silenced by her friends. Collectively, they shot a glance in Eugenia's direction. That look said it all.

Trying to appear unfazed, Eugenia removed her parasol from her bag. Then she hit a button that caused it to flare upwards and into place. One of the girls in the nearby group let out a yelp as it grazed her.

"Oops," Eugenia said, trying to keep her rage beneath the surface. But she could feel her face turning red with effort as she forced a smile. "Didn't see you there."

"Sure you didn't," one of the three girls grouched, brushing herself off.

Eugenia laughed. "So, having a party tonight, are you? And you didn't want to invite me, because…?"

The host responded, "It's just for close friends."

"Is it? Because I've seen you talking to almost every girl in the class. Every girl except me." The host opened her mouth to voice some excuse, but Eugenia wouldn't let her. She got right up in her face, no longer able to hold herself back. "Save it!" She snapped. "I couldn't possibly care less about your little party! Do you want to know why?! Because I could _never_ be associated with a bunch of shallow, disgusting lowlifes like you!"

With that, Eugenia turned and stomped away, high heels clacking loudly against the tile floor. She kept her chin up proudly and her parasol held daintily at her shoulder as she walked outside.

_I didn't want to go to some stupid party, _she kept telling herself repeatedly.

Yes, escaping the confines of her house and escaping her mother for a night would have been a blessing. But she could never bring herself to leave Helios and Sigrid alone. They would have missed her dreadfully and cried the entire time she was gone, thinking she had abandoned them.

Besides, all of the girls in her class looked like dolls that had been produced in a factory. Same hair color, same makeup, same everything. She was unique. She was small and petite, with thick, smooth hair that reached down to her waist. It was the perfect blend of light brown and platinum blonde, with a pale yellow-green highlight near the front. So much more creative than the same bubblegum pink you saw everywhere you went. Or the dull colors that came from the districts.

And no one else in her class wore light violet contacts, or sparkling gold eyeshadow. No one had perfect, milky white skin because they all stained theirs with tattoos and dye. She was better than them, and they knew it. They merely didn't invite her to their party because they were intimidated.

That's what she told herself, anyways. If she believed in it hard enough, it couldn't possibly be a lie.

"I'm home," Eugenia announced as she walked through her house's door.

Her mother was seated at the kitchen table, writing on a piece of paper. Eugenia secretly hoped it was a job application. "…You're on time today. Help yourself to a cookie and get started on your homework. Or you can help Zenovia cook dinner. She's already finished with her work."

_Of course she is, _Eugenia thought bitterly, spotting her sister hunched over the stove in the kitchen. "I'm not hungry," She said, making a beeline for her room.

She could hear her mother warn, "Watch your tone," but she had already slammed her door. For a moment, she stood there, simmering with rage. Then she spotted something that made all of her hatred fall away. "Helios! Sigrid!"

Two heads shot up from a puddle of ginger fur on her bed. They belonged to her two beloved cats, which were currently curled up together and purring up a storm. She had gotten them two years ago from her parents, after an excellent piano recital. She considered it one of her greatest accomplishments, because it had given her her two greatest treasures.

Eugenia threw herself on the bed next to the cats and bundled them up in her arms. "Ohh, you're so CUTE! I could just hug you forever. Awww, did you miss me, Heli? Haha, that tickles!"

Helios proceeded to rub his face all over Eugenia's, while Sigrid struggled to escape the crushing embrace. Once she had fawned over them enough, Eugenia sprawled onto her bed and closed her eyes. Helios climbed up to perch on her belly while Sigrid nestled into a spot above her shoulder.

Suddenly, all of her stress and worries seemed to fall away. Her mother's demands. Her sister's unattainable perfection. Her peers shunning her. It all became lost among the constant purring from her two best friends in the world.

Eugenia just smiled, wishing she could stay like this forever.

* * *

"Can you uncook a steak? ANSWER ME! CAN YOU UNCOOK A STEAK?!"

"No!" The terrified chef said, flinching as Saxon shook the over-cooked meat in front of his face.

"That's right!" Saxon shouted, spittle flying from his mouth as he raged. He slammed the steak down onto a plate. "SO GET IT RIGHT THE FIRST TIME!"

Duke felt a familiar thrill of fear, as he always did when his father started going ballistic in the kitchen. It was one of those stressful days where people swarmed _Hera's Haven Restaurant and Bar_. Perhaps it was due to tomorrow's Reaping. Everyone wanted to stuff his or her faces full of delicious comfort food. Duke certainly wasn't complaining about that aspect.

All night, his father Saxon, the head chef, had been trying to keep the kitchen on top of the orders. His voice was beginning to sound strained, but it was a necessary action if it meant no one would leave the restaurant disappointed.

Being only sixteen, Duke was merely there to help out the full-time chefs. He had to do a lot of heavy lifting and cleaning, but during crowded hours, he often got to cut vegetables or garnish desserts. He was grateful for every bit of experience.

"Duke!" Nora, a kitchen aid who was only a year older than him, came rushing towards him. The normally quiet girl looked slightly panicked. She was another young mind aspiring to go to culinary school. "Can you caramelize this crème brulee for me?"

"Of course I can," he said accepting the half-finished dessert. He took it to where the sugar and the blowtorch were located. All the while, he could hear his father screaming something along the lines of 'no taste.'

"Hey! Chef Saxon's kid," One of the chefs called over his shoulder, not bothering to look at Duke. "Could you—"

"In a minute!" Duke said, hurriedly trying to get his assignments done. As he worked, he gritted his teeth, thinking, _Chef Saxon's kid…you'd think they'd know my name by now. _He silently swore that someday, they would.

The rest of the night was a busy one. Duke performed every task he was assigned to the best of his abilities. And despite all of Saxon's complaints, there was not a single complaint from any customer. Eventually, it grew dark outside and occupied tables grew sparse. When the last person had wandered out, Saxon took off his hat and mopped at his sweaty hair with a hand towel. Duke stood next to him, waiting for him to say something. "Good work tonight," he grunted, loud enough for only him to hear.

Duke allowed himself a small smile.

Chef Saxon turned to address the entire staff. "Great job, everyone. Your hard work is why we maintain a five-star rating, even through difficult times."

Everyone began to cheer, but Saxon immediately held a hand up for silence.

"I'm not finished. Speaking of difficult times, tomorrow is the Reaping. It's the prime time to do some of our best business. So, the restaurant will be open—"

He was immediately met with a number of groans and protests. "But Chef!" One waitress cried, "Everyone is required to watch the broadcast of the Reaping."

"There are TVs at the bar, aren't there?" Saxon growled, his voice raspy with fatigue. "Now stick around and I'll let you know who has the Reaping shift tomorrow…"

Duke didn't bother staying, knowing he would be there with his father. Instead, he checked his phone. There was a new text from Caius, his friend that worked the bar. It read, _Dude. Felix is here, I mighta slipped him a drink, and now he's going off on some bloke from District 12. You gotta see this. _

The message had been sent a few hours ago. Duke headed to the bar anyways, followed by Nora. They usually went to hang out with Caius after work, letting others do the cleaning.

The 20-year old bartender was there, pretending to look busy as he polished a martini glass. "You missed it!" Caius burst out when he saw them. "Felix got in a big blowout with this district guy, big political rant, couldn't understand half of it. Thought for sure there'd be a fight, too bad there wasn't. Would have placed all my money on Felix."

"I'm surprised there wasn't, considering it's _Felix_," Duke said.

"Well, he does have his father's image to uphold," Nora said softly.

"Why, because his father used to be an advisor of President Snow? Newsflash: he's not anymore," Duke ran a hand through his fair, blonde hair. It was riddled with sweat and stuck up in little spikes from the night's labor. A small burning sensation emanated from his hand and he looked to see that he had gotten a few new callouses. He really needed to start using oven mitts.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed the next topic of conversation: tomorrow's Reaping. Nora was expressing her nerves, while Caius shrugged and said, "Not a big fan of the idea, but I can't resist placing a few bets here and there. What do you think, Duke?"

Duke contemplated his answer. "Well…like any Hunger Games, it's bringing the restaurant good business, so I can't complain. Let the rebels have their petty revenge. As long as it doesn't interfere with my life, then I don't care."

"Duke?"

The three of them turned to see Saxon standing at the door. He had hung up his uniform for the night and was ready to go.

"I'm out. See you guys tomorrow," Duke said, hopping up from a barstool and heading for the exit.

* * *

The Hunger Games were back.

It was so hard to believe that, just a few years ago, they had been her entire life. Tullia was on the brink of adolescence during that time. A time when young girls searched for their identity—or found something shallow to cling to and obsess over.

For her, it was the Hunger Games. She could still hear her younger self's voice in her head, fangirling nonstop and begging her parents for a number of things. _"Please let me_ _take sword fighting lessons, pleezy please, oh it looks so cool on TV!" _or _"Please can we go visit the 74__th__ arena oh please please please. I want to see where Katniss and Peeta made out!" _

Of course, her parents said yes every time. _"Of course, honey! Anything that makes you happy!"_

But now things were different. The tables had turned. These weren't people from the districts headed into the Games, this time around…it was _her _people.

It didn't seem real. Why was this happening? It wasn't their fault. It was the government's fault. She could never have done anything. If she had hated the Hunger Games instead of celebrating them, it wouldn't have made any difference…right?

"Tully?"

Tully blinked from her daze. She had been so lost in her thoughts; she forgot her best friend Lucilla was accompanying her on a shopping trip. She was looking at her as though she had just said something purposeful and was waiting for her to respond. "Oh my gosh. Sorry, what?"

Lucilla didn't seem too offended, and jumped right back into what she was talking about. "I was wondering who they were going to get to replace Caesar Flickerman, if they replace him at all. What do you think they'll do?"

"Ah," Tully frowned. "Yeah, sorry, hon! Pretty sure they're going to replace him." She threw her arms up in an exaggerated shrug.

"No!" Lucilla gasped. "He's my idol! He'll never be replaced. Who would replace him?"

Tully felt a smile forming on her face. Lucilla always ended each phrase with a question, and she loved that about her. It was like being interviewed by Caesar himself, sometimes. No wonder he was her idol. "_You _should replace him. You'd be perfect for the job!"

Lucilla waved a hand, embarrassed. "I wish. Does your uncle know anything? Since he used to work as a stylist?"

"No idea, he kind of lost his job, remember? Anyways, don't stress about it. Let's shop!"

Of course, the shopping district wasn't as glorious as it used to be. Some of their old, favorite shops had closed up and new ones had sprung up to take their place. Fashion was changing, losing some of its Capitol luster as the districts began moving in with their own styles and ideas. But that wouldn't stop these girls from having a good time. They would always be Capitolites at heart.

Tully spent the day trying on all sorts of new outfits and Lucilla gave her an opinion on each one. The flashier the better, as her uncle had once taught her. First impressions could make or break you.

That was why Tully wore a different color scheme every day and why she took such great care of her appearance. Her favorite part of her ensemble was her wig. It was long and silvery white, save for the bangs, which resembled the colorful bars found on a TV. She wore a pair of antennae earrings to match the theme. The rest of her clothes were constantly changing. Wearing the same color twice in the same week was taboo. She had to keep everyone on their toes, always expecting the best.

"How do I look?" Tully said, stepping out of the dressing room. She wore a dress the color of a yellow highlighter. The skirt flared outwards and was studded with sequins. Along with that, she had on matching black-and-yellow pumps that made her look taller than average, and bright green stockings. She performed a little twirl, and then struck a pose.

Lucilla clapped her hands. "Beautiful! But it's literally burning my retinas."

"Good. I'll take it!" Tully decided.

"What should we do next? Go shopping for a new purse? Get some dinner? I'm up for anything. The night's just getting started!" Lucilla gave a wiggle of excitement and waited for Tully to answer.

Tully opened her purse and checked her wallet. It's sparseness made her heart fall. There was less money to go around, these days. All because of those ridiculous taxes, preying on the rich. At least she had her mom's credit card on her. She knew her mother wouldn't mind if she treated herself. "Sure! Let's do it. Tomorrow's the Reaping so let's go crazy!"

She raised her voice as she spoke, enjoying the glances that were thrown her way. Linking arms with her best friend, the two girls rushed towards checkout, ready to blow all their money before everything changed tomorrow.


	3. One Day More

**Here's another update! Don't expect the next one for a little while. Updates might be sporadic because I'm going on a few trips here and there as we near the end of summer. Congratulations to this next batch of tributes who made the cut!**

**This is off-topic, but has anyone heard of the game Tomodachi Life? I just got it and put my Hunger Games guys into the mix. Hip, of course, got himself into a love triangle. He got turned down by my sister twice and turned down my best friend three times. Saffron is ranked as the most charming guy on the island, but sadly for the ladies he's going out with little old mii. ;) The two of them were besties and decided to take it to the next level. I'm cool with that. As for Wiley, he's the best of bros with both Hip and Saffron, but what he really wants is some lovin'. Too bad nearly every girl on the island has him friend zoned. **

**That's it. Maybe I'll give you some more silly updates if anything happens. **

Merging the Capitol and the districts was like locking a cat and a mouse in the same box and expecting them to get along. The integration of Panem was easier said than done. The districts were still embittered, while the Capitol fought tooth and nail to keep their wealth and materialistic pleasures. Their lifestyle was alien compared to that of the district dwellers.

Even five years later, you could still tell a Capitolite from someone from the districts. Horatia Vici was the embodiment of everything a Capitolite was expected to be.

Despite being only 15 years of age, she had already gotten a few silicone implants to emphasize her curvy figure, as well as a nose job. Her straight, shoulder-length hair was dyed a vivid purple to match her eyes and the tattoos that spiraled over her wrists, shoulders, and below her eyebrows. Of course, her clothes followed the latest trends, though the lack of Hunger Games meant a lack of new trends. Still, Horatia was a Capitolite through and through—and she let everyone know it.

"Yo Yolanda, why don't you go back to District 2 and bang some rocks together? You know you're not welcome here!" Melody declared, grinning at her joke.

The girls that had Yolanda surrounded and backed against a row of lockers, snickered. Horatia stood at the core of the group, the twins Davina and Trina on either side of her. They were both giving her expectant looks, like dogs waiting to be let off the leash. She just smirked and raised one shoulder in a shrug.

_Have at it._

"Yolanda wishes she could be a Capitolite," Davina said.

"Why else would she be here? She wants to be like us," Trina added.

The plain girl from District 2 just rolled her eyes. "Maybe Yolanda wants to receive a decent education at a prosperous school so she can pursue a doctorate degree. Ever think of that?" She looked at Horatia purposefully, knowing she was the queen bee, the one in control of these drones. Horatia hated that judgmental glare.

"Don't act like you're better than me. You're not," Horatia said haughtily, running a hand through her thick, violet hair.

"Yeah, you're not!" "You're not!" The twins echoed obediently.

Yolanda tried to respond, but Horatia was no longer interested in what she had to say. She turned to Cassia, perhaps the most ladylike in their clique. She was observing the scene with calm eyes. "Cassia," Horatia said in a low voice. "Have you seen Magdalene?"

Cassia shook her head. Nerves sent a shiver down Horatia's spine. Magdalene was absent. She couldn't leave that so-called best friend of hers alone for a second. "Oh that poor dear, I know how she hates to miss out on the action. I'm going to go find her! You girls stay here."

"I'll come with you!" Trina exclaimed.

"_Stay. Here,_" Horatia said, emphasizing each word. "God, a dead dog is a better listener than you are."

Without responding to the twins' pleas for her to stay, Horatia turned and rushed down the school hallway. She thought she had spotted Magdalene near the computer lab when school let out—and that's where she found her. Alone in the room, standing by the copy machine.

Horatia flung the door open with a great amount of force, causing Magdalene to jump. "Hey girl!" She greeted in the friendliest voice she could muster. "Was wondering where you were. You gotta come see Melody, she's totally ripping Yolanda to shreds."

Magdalene's surgically perfected features lit up. "Oh gosh! How could I miss that? Homework can wait, I suppose."

_Since when do you care about homework? _Horatia thought, letting her untrusted friend pass her by. As soon as Magdalene had left the room, Horatia was at the copier. The machine was incredibly old and rarely used, considering everything was done on computers these days. _What could Magdalene possibly want to make copies of…?_

Her heart stopped when she saw it. A crusty, yellowed piece of paper bearing a picture of a family tree. Horatia snatched up the paper, her purple eyes flitting over its surface. _No. No, no, no, no. _

"That bitch!" Horatia hissed under her breath. She was trying to ruin her. She was trying to suck away her popularity like a disease-ridden mosquito. She wanted to be first in command. She wanted hordes of followers tripping over her, eager to please.

_No. I won't let this happen. Not again, _Horatia thought, furiously ripping up the paper. _Two can play at this game. I'll tell everyone her family is deeply in debt. She'll regret ever crossing me. Just wait until tomorrow!_

Then she remembered that the Reaping was tomorrow, and after that it was the weekend. No school for three days.

_Oh. Okay. Just wait until after the weekend! You're going to regret everything, Magdalene._

* * *

"I can't believe the Reaping is tomorrow. The Hunger Games _weren't _okay back then and they _aren't _okay now. Why can't anyone see that? This isn't going to bring the Capitol and the districts together! This is going to widen the rift even further!"

"Alayne, if you keep up that pacing, you're going to ruin the grass," Casca pointed out.

Casca was currently sitting in his family's luxurious backyard, admiring the gardens with his sister Alayne and his best friend Juni. How fortunate they had been, that they didn't lose their home during the rebellion, and after it had ended. While others struggled to adapt, they continued to live in splendor. And it was all thanks to Casca's father, Cyrus.

_Dear old Dad, _Casca thought fondly. The young man bore his father's handsome looks and slender body, though he was much taller. They also shared the same dark hair, though Casca always had his styled in a faux-hawk, with reddish purple tips. Other than that, he had next to no altercations to his body, wanting to remain professional like Cyrus. The older man didn't want to appear as though he spent all his money on shallow adjustments of appearance.

The 17-year old swore he would just be like his father when he left school and entered the real world. Clever. Resourceful. Ruthless. He was well on his way there already.

"Casca, how can you be calm about this?" Alayne said, whirling on her brother, her lilac hair in disarray. "You're just as eligible as I am! Juni's more afraid than you, and he can't even get reaped!"

Juni visibly shuddered. "Yeah. Brings back memories. There are some people from my district wishing they could volunteer, but they're the lunatics who trained since they were toddlers, then told that it was time to end the Hunger Games. You should have seen their reactions when they realized the Capitol kids were gonna get to compete."

Alayne let out a distressed wail. "Once it starts, it's never gonna stop!"

Casca blinked his light brown eyes innocently. "Here's an idea to make them call it off. I can make a speech. Charm everyone with my words, get put into the news. Tell them how Juni and I became buddies. 'The mild-mannered son of a prominent Capitol family and the son of a peasant family in District 1, the best of friends! If they can do it, why can't we?' Bet it'll make them call off the whole Hunger Games."

Juni's face went red with embarrassment, clashing with his spiky orange hair. "First of all, I'm not from a peasant family, my dad owns a fair number of factories."

"Oh, yes?"

"Yes. Don't pretend you didn't know that. And second of all, you admitted yourself that you only became friends with me so you could get free District 1 merchandise."

"Can you blame me?" Casca said, leaning back and stretching out on the soft bed of grass beneath him. "District 1 has some of the best stuff. Besides, I consider you a true friend now, if that makes it any better."

Juni chuckled, good-naturedly. Alayne just started mumbling something about how the districts were never going to go away, if everyone kept talking about them like this.

"Relax already, Alayne!" Casca sighed. Her ceaseless muttering was putting him on edge. "You realize how little the chances are of you getting reaped? There is no tesserae so my name is in there six times. You're only in there four."

"It doesn't matter. They're still there," Alayne griped.

Casca pushed himself into a sitting position to face her and give her a reassuring smile. "Look, the Reaping is probably rigged anyways. And if that were the case, there's no way in hell our names are in that bowl. Not after everything Dad's done for the districts."

"Not after he stabbed the Capitol in the back," Alayne muttered bitterly. "Whatever, I'm going inside."

_I'm trying to comfort you, here, _Casca sighed inwardly. He didn't bother trying to reason with his sister as she exited the garden without another word. Casca looked to Juni. "So…wanna talk about anything in particular?"

A familiar gleam came into Juni's eye. It was the look he got when juicy Capitol gossip was ready to spill out of his mouth. Casca was happy to at least get one mind off of the Reaping, which loomed like a tower over every Capitolite.

Casca merely smiled to show he was listening to Juni as he caught him up on the latest news and scandals. But his eyes were glazed and distant as he thought about tomorrow.

The Hunger Games weren't so bad. Whether it was kids from the districts or kids from the Capitol, they were still the same entertainment. He used to love the strategy of it all and seeing who would come out on top.

Being in them, of course, would be another story.

But there was no way he would get reaped.

Not in a million years.

"It's getting late," Casca decided, glancing at the darkening sky. "Let's go inside."

* * *

_It was always the same dream. _

_Everything started out normal enough. Brianne had her usual strawberry blonde hair, streaked with pink and yellow highlights, down to her shoulders. Her skin was fair and unmarked, her nails the same deep shade of purple they always were. She was herself._

_Well, not quite. She was smaller. Younger. A teenager trapped in the body of a child, with little concern as to how that happened. She was sitting in her old playroom, playing with pretty little dolls. For some reason, whenever she tried to focus on a single doll, their faces blurred out. Her toys were there, but she couldn't really see them. The entire playroom was fuzzy. And for some reason, the colorful wallpaper had been replaced with bars like those found on a crib. Past them, there was only darkness. Her playroom was the only light in the dark._

_The faces of her family—her aunt, uncle, and her two cousins—were peering at her from behind the bars. They were the same age as they were in the present. The youngest cousin, Elliot, looked desperate for Brianne to leave her cage and play with him. Her uncle's face was as kindly as ever as he reached through the bars, offering her his hand._

_Brianne's young self recoiled in horror. His hand was tainted with a coat of grime, which thickened in his skin's cracks. Upon further inspection, the entire family was layered with dirt. Compared to her dainty princess dress, their clothes were tattered and grungy. They reeked of poverty and disease._

"_No!" Brianne shrieked in the voice of a child. "I won't go with you! I won't!"_

_She could see her uncle's eyes were pleading. His arm shook as he strained to reach her. His dry lips opened a crack. "Please…" His voice was barely a whisper._

_Brianne backed away from him, whimpering, "My parents are coming back. I have to wait for them here!"_

_Something touched her shoulder. She whirled around with a scream. It was another hand, reaching for her. Its nails were long, yellow, and jagged._

_The faces of her family had disappeared. Now, hands that seemed to stretch out of the darkness were reaching towards her from every angle. _

_Brianne stood at the middle of the room, tears running down her face, barely out of reach of the hands. Their jagged nails brushed her skin as they groped for her. When she spoke again, her voice sounded older. "I don't want to go! My parents are coming back. I have to wait for them here…they're definitely, definitely coming back…they have to be..."_

With a gasp, Brianne awoke. She sat up in her sleeping bag, panting, her pale skin covered in sweat. As she wiped it away, a voice mumbled from nearby, "You okay?"

"Fine, LaVie. Go back to sleep," Brianne answered hastily.

LaVie ignored her friend's orders and slowly propped herself on her elbows. "I'm sorry, Brianne, this was a bad idea. I should have realized…we haven't had a sleepover since…" She trailed off.

Brianne cringed. The last time they had a sleepover was the night of her parents' car accident. It was less than a year ago, but sometimes it felt like it was yesterday. "Let it go," Brianne said harshly. "I don't feel like talking about it." She rolled over in an attempt to cut off the conversation.

LaVie received her hint and shut her mouth. A few minutes of silence passed between them. The only sound that could be heard was the distant wail of a siren.

Brianne sighed deeply. "For the record…it _was _a good idea."

"Mm," was LaVie's response. She had most likely already fallen back asleep.

Brianne wished she could fall asleep too. But now her mind was plagued by memories and the images from the dream. She felt bad for screaming at her uncle like that, even if it didn't happen. He had been so kind to take her in, despite his family's poor living conditions, despite the way she had turned her nose up at them and commented that Avoxes lived in better homes. Really, it wasn't so bad. They didn't wear tattered clothes or carry diseases. They just couldn't afford the usual grandeur every Capitol sought for themselves.

It didn't matter. They all loved her so much. She loved them too, but she wanted her parents back. Despite how distant they were, how they didn't take the time to get to know their daughter and nurture her, they were still her parents…

_Maybe what I really miss is the life of a Capitolite, _Brianne thought, mildly disgusted with herself.

At least she had LaVie. Being with LaVie, it was like nothing had ever changed. She was still the same, carefree teenager, as long as she didn't allow herself to think about the past. Like she was doing now.

_Ugh! Go to sleep! _Brianne squeezed her eyes shut, drawing the sleeping bag up to her chin. Bit by bit, her body went numb and her mind began to drift away. But deep in her stomach, dread swirled.

The last time she had a sleepover with LaVie, she had woken to find her parents had died overnight. What terrible thing was waiting for her tomorrow?

* * *

"Sensei, are you watching? You're not watching," Apollo said, pausing in his demonstration of martial arts. "This is for my black belt. It's of utmost importance that you watch."

"I know, I know. I'm watching," Sensei said, motioning for Apollo to get on with it.

Apollo obeyed, striking the air with repetitive punches and kicks, letting out small war cries with each hit. Pride bloomed in his chest when he saw Sensei nodding at him. That, or he was nodding to the little Asian girl doing her demonstration next to him. Either way, he performed perfectly.

Everyone lined up for the ceremony. Being 18, Apollo towered over the other 12-year olds in his class. Sensei began presenting each one of his students with a black belt, after a small speech. Apollo was tingling with excitement as he waited for his moment to shine. The little Asian girl wearing pigtails was next to him.

"Don't get a swollen head," he hissed to her through gritted teeth. "You don't have the knowledge, training, or mental maturity for a _real _black belt. This is just to stoke your ego and convince your parents you're making progress, so they'll buy you another round of lessons."

The little girl gazed at him with wide eyes. "How do you know that's not why _you're _getting a black belt?"

Before Apollo could respond, Sensei reached him. Apollo kneeled down as his teacher held the black belt high over his head, presenting him with it. All qualms with the other, younger students were forgotten.

All the way home, Apollo was beaming, even when he walked into his tiny apartment complex he shared with his cousin, Moses. He found Moses sprawled on the shoddy living room couch, sucking on a grape juice bottle. What little money he made always went towards grape juice, it seemed. You could get addicted to anything, apparently.

As for Apollo, he invested his money in more worthwhile pursuits. Martial arts weren't his only passion—he had a knack for collecting anything and everything to do with the Hunger Games. Merchandise filled every room of the apartment…and every corner…and every wall.

Shelves were lined with soundtracks and videos of past Hunger Games. Posters covered every bit of wallpaper, and a few blocked out windows because there was nowhere else to put them. Every table had an army of action figures, most of them past Hunger Games victors. They had to eat on the floor because there was no room on the kitchen table. Dioramas of past arenas were jammed under these tables and Apollo's bed, with no other place for them. A model hovercraft hung from the ceiling, and a few glass cases contained the most valuable possessions of all. There had been a lot more room for these collectables at his parents' house. Fitting them into his apartment hadn't been an easy feat.

"Moses!" Apollo greeted his shut-in cousin with a huge smile. "Guess what happened today!"

Moses looked at him with wide eyes. "Don't tell me you brought home…not more Hunger Games crap…?"

Apollo gawked at his cousin, completely forgetting about his black belt for a moment. He couldn't believe his ears. Was he even related to this fellow on the couch? "Do you even know what you are talking about?"

Moses just stared blankly.

Apollo moved across the room and pointed to a dusty knife in a glass case. "This knife was used in the 50th Hunger Games. A Quarter Quell! A Bloodbath victim had it for a whole twenty seconds before a Career chopped his head off. Do you know how much money I had to spend at the auction for this?!" He moved towards another case. This one contained a necklace with a faded tree on it. "This necklace was a token of a little girl in the—DON'T TOUCH THAT!"

During Apollo's speech, Moses had picked up one of the action figures on an end table. "I wonder how much this would go for," he muttered.

"Give me Victor Saffron!" Apollo snapped, snatching the precious action figure out of his cousin's hands. He quickly checked it over to make sure everything was in order. "Are you blind, Moses? Can't you see the amount of detail put into this? The katana…the blood dripping down his face…just look at him. _Look at him._"

"But what are you supposed to do with it? Surely all this stuff can't just sit in here?" Moses interrupted, leaning away from the action figure shoved in his face.

"It can and it will!" Apollo said, determined. "I'm the one with a job. I'm paying the rent, though I will admit your parents are paying me to keep you here. But that _still_ means I'm in charge. Maybe if you stopped blowing all your money on grape juice and Italian herbs, and tried to find a job, I'd let you have a say."

"Right…grape juice…" Moses muttered, avoiding Apollo's beady eyes, leering at him through a thick pair of glasses.

Apollo decided to let the issue drop. He was in a great mood. The long-desired black belt was his, and the Hunger Games was returning tomorrow. It was like finding out your favorite show, which had been cancelled five years ago, was coming back. It was going to be amazing.

He turned on the TV, thrilled to see that he was just in time for an esteemed interview with Head Gamemaker Corr.

"…Plutarch. Great fellow. Said he'd had enough, that he was going to step down, yeah? So I thought, you know, maybe I could give it a go! I've got the brain for it, haven't I?"

Despite being from the districts, the Head Gamemaker spoke with a Capitol accent. Apollo couldn't help but feel that made him more likeable. As if nothing had ever changed.

Smiling, he began to prepare a quick dinner in the kitchen, only half listening to the interview. Of course, the Head Gamemaker refused to drop any hints about the arena, and reminded everyone that the Reaping would be broadcast on TV tomorrow. It was more convenient than jamming everyone into the city square.

Near the end of the interview, the host asked Head Gamemaker Corr if he had any closing statements. The bespectacled man leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands together. A cruel grin was hidden behind them and his blue eyes flashed with knowing.

"I can't tell you much of anything yet, can't make any guarantees…but I can guarantee one thing: these Hunger Games will be to _die _for."

**Brianne's deal with bad things happening during/after sleepovers reminds of how whenever my friend comes over for a sleepover on spring break, someone dies. Now I get paranoid every time March rolls around. See you in late July/early August for the next update! Hopefully, our tribute list will come together around that time!**


	4. After Midnight

**I know you probably don't care about my Tomodachi Life updates, but I'mma tell you anyway because this is my author's note and I make the rules. Get this: Hip got married! That's right, he was the first to settle down and the lady of his desire turned out to be my evil twin Taylot. They had a baby that looks like demon spawn and named him Angel. How fitting. Wiley also got married to one of my sister's friends! Good for him, finally breaking out of the friendzone. Saffron is still going out with my mii, but hasn't proposed because he's a dork. Probably because the game knows I'll stop playing it once my mii has had a baby. Curse you, game!**

**Oh wait, wait, wait…there's actually important stuff to talk about…**

**IMPORTANT INFORMATION NEWSFLASH! The deadline to submit your character is THE END OF JULY. You've got less than two weeks to send in a character if you haven't already. That weekend, I will create the final list of tributes. DUN DUN DAHH! …Look forward to it.**

**I would have liked to name this chapter "Flashback Fun" but then I remembered you guys are probably taking this more seriously than me. **

"So if the square root of negative four is equal to 2i, that means it would be…the square root of four times the square root of negative one? But the value of i…that's…that's…?"

"You're getting there," Junisse said, offering Matthise an encouraging smile.

Her friend just scratched his head, looking perplexed. "But what the hell is the point of bringing in 2i? Who's the genius that came up with imaginary numbers?!"

Junisse responded with a soft laugh. "Let's finish up so you can help me with my English homework."

It had been a long night for the both of them. Most kids at the age of 17 might be out partying on such a night, but not them. They wanted to get a head start on their homework for the weekend. Ever since grade school, Junisse and Matthise played off each other's academic strengths, helping the other where they failed. It was a great trade-off and not only helped them survive their classes, but also contributed to their friendship.

Tonight, they were trading off Math for English. But Matthise's homework proved to be a great deal harder than they could have foreseen. He suggested letting Junisse do all the work, but she chastised him for it, saying he should do his own work or he wouldn't learn anything.

_Knock-knock-knock!_

Someone was rapping on the door to Matthise's bedroom. A second later, it flung open to reveal his mother standing there. "Matt! It's late! Get to bed." Her expression softened when she spotted Junisse sitting on his bed. "Oh, Junisse, honey. I didn't know you were still here."

"Oh no, I'm so sorry," Junisse apologized, hurrying to gather up her books. Matthise protested as she pulled her notebook from his grasp. "I'll be going now."

Matthise's mother frowned. "It's awfully late. My husband can take you home if—"

"No, thank you. That's not necessary. It's just a short walk," Junisse said, lifting her backpack onto her shoulder and heading for the door. "Thank you for having me." She bid a quick goodbye to Matthias, making him promise they would work on English the next time they met. Then she headed for home.

As soon as she stepped outside, Junisse grew nervous. She hadn't realized how dark it was. A few dim streetlights lined the street, but their glow barely permeated the darkness. Not wanting to inconvenience Matthise's family, she stepped onto the sidewalk with a gulp. Her house was just two streets away. She would just walk quickly.

But the deserted, wide-open street made her heart pound even faster. She felt exposed. With a deep breath, she imagined herself somewhere else. Standing in a meadow, with sunlight warming her skin. Horses were grazing nearby. Matthise was there, and her other friend, Bel. All was well.

This daydream helped her clear the first street without any problem. On the next street, reality came rushing back in when she spotted two men facing off at the corner of a building. Even in the gloom, she could see one had faded green hair and tattered clothing.

"District scum!" The green-haired man spat at the other. "I lost my house cause of trash like you!"

Junisse nearly let out a cry of fear when he swung his hand at the other man without warning. However, it didn't connect. The district man dodged the blow, and then countered with his own fierce punch. There was a resounding _crack _as his fist met with the green-haired man's jaw. The Capitol man crumpled with a groan of pain and stayed down.

That didn't stop the district man from delivering a kick to his stomach. The Capitolite gasped as the air was forced from his lungs. He curled into a ball, in an effort to shield himself, but the district man continued his attack.

_Please stop fighting! _Junisse wanted to say, but she didn't dare. She could barely spark a conversation among her peers at school; much less stop a fight between two grown men. She remained where she was, paralyzed with fear.

Then the district man's eyes met her own. Her heart nearly stopped. For once, she was grateful for her plain appearance—dark skin, brown eyes, frizzy black hair. No altercations to speak of.

The man began shambling towards her, walking with a slight limp. Junisse felt her knees going weak. An image flashed through her mind—one of her crumpled on the ground in a helpless ball, just like the green-haired Capitolite. She braced herself for a scream that would wake up the whole neighborhood.

But when he reached her, the district man merely nodded at her. "Good luck at the Reaping tomorrow," he said, his voice cracked with age. Then he continued past her, disappearing into the gray shadows. Junisse watched him go, unable to speak or move. The battered body of the nearby Capitolite emitted a soft moan.

That sparked Junisse into movement. She ran the rest of the way home and didn't stop until she was inside her house, safe and sound.

* * *

_TV? Check. Popcorn? Check. Six-pack of assorted caffeinated sodas? Check. Time for the Hunger Games marathons to end all Hunger games marathons!_

Antony threw himself down on the family sofa with a bowl of popcorn in one hand and a drink in the other. He kicked back, resting one foot on the coffee table in front of him and the other on the arm of the couch. His lanky body practically took up the entire space, leaving no room for those who would wish to join him.

"Play," he commanded the TV. "…Seventy-fifth Hunger Games."

The TV repeated his request, and then followed his order. The Capitol logo popped up on the screen and a familiar anthem filled the room.

He had decided to start with the 75th Hunger Games and go backwards from there. It would be like travelling back into the past.

His heart rose with excitement when the chariots started rolling out. It had been so long since he had experienced anything to do with the Games! And the chariot rides were his absolute favorite part. But he had to shield his eyes when District 10 appeared. What a horrible, horrible costume! He would never have agreed to wear such atrocious attire.

Right when the interviews started, Antony's mother came walking into the room with a sour look on her face. He tried to pretend she wasn't there, hoping that if he stayed silent, she would turn around and leave. It didn't work.

"Look at you—you're sixteen. And here you are, holed up inside watching the Hunger Games. A boy your age should be spending more time out of the house, with friends! Do you even have any friends?"

"I do have friends," Antony said in a flat voice. He could barely hear the TV over the sound of his mother's nagging.

"A foal doesn't count as a friend."

Antony gritted his teeth. "_Foil, _Mom. Three years of fencing lessons and you think you'd know what the sword was called. Sheesh."

Antony's mother crossed her arms and glared down at him. "I'm not the one taking the lessons, am I? Besides, my point still stands."

Antony nearly chuckled out loud. _Your POINT still stands? As in, the point of the foil? _But this was not the time to be cracking jokes. He was trying to win this argument. "I do have friends. Ingrid, Ayla, Noelle…" He began counting his friends on his fingers, but the third one made him pause. _Wait. I got this…do I have other friends? I do, don't I? Hm…_

"Oh, Zou, give him a break," Antony's father said, coming into the room. He offered his boy a smile. "Remember we used to rewatch the Hunger Games all the time after the rebellion ended!"

"Only because I wanted to show our son what the President did wrong…" Zou mumbled. "Letting two victors survive and then throwing all of them back into the arena at once? It was outrageous. Remember that riot we were caught in?"

Antony didn't think the President was wrong. The districts had a major screw up and so they had to face the consequences. Even though 75 years was a little much…yeah, they probably should have cut that down a bit. And they probably shouldn't have thrown the victors back in for another fight, no matter how exciting that had been. Still, Antony couldn't deny missing the PreGames and the endless flow of fashion trends the Games produced. Speaking of fashion trends…

"Dad, you changed your look!"

Antony's father looked down at his attire with a delighted laugh. His hair and skin were tinted orange and he was wearing a black jumpsuit. It was an odd combination. "I'm trying to set a new trend!" He declared. That was practically his catchphrase. "Maybe you should try something new for once, Antony."

Antony shook his head and grimaced. "Maybe if I wanted to look like a fashion disaster. No thanks, I'll stick to my usual look."

"If it were possible to go blind from too much purple, you would have by now," His mother grouched.

"It's _lilac! _Gawd!" Antony said, throwing up his arms.

Zou threw up her arms as well, in mock surrender, and left the room. Her husband followed, saying, "We'll leave you to your marathon, son! Let us know if you need anything."

"Thank you. Was that so hard?" Antony said, turning back to the TV. Sometimes being an only child was great, but other times he wished his parents would just leave him alone and go dote on another kid. And thanks to them, now he felt distracted. He fingered his lilac shirt, and then touched his lilac hair and eyes, wondering if it was too much.

Nah. Looking this good couldn't possibly be a mistake. 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it' and all that crap. So Antony settled back, shoveled some popcorn into his mouth, and prepared himself for a long night of reliving the Hunger Games—until tomorrow, when they would finally return after their five-year hiatus.

* * *

_**Seven years ago…**_

"_Sweetie! Sweetie, come meet the victor!" _

_Eleven-year old Viatrix could only stand and stare at her mother when she approached her with such a request. "The victor?" She echoed._

_Her mother immediately grabbed her hand and began dragging her through the group of partygoers. People pressed in from every side, their voices drowning out her meager protests. She had so many reasons why she wasn't fit to meet a victor: her dress was too poofy and childish, her hair was a mess, she had a pimple on her forehead…but her mother wasn't letting her get away with anything._

"_Nonsense!" She laughed, her voice booming over the crowd. "You're an absolute doll, sweetheart! This victor isn't getting away without meeting my little princess."_

_Viatrix opened her mouth to berate her mother for her poor choice of words, but before she knew it, they were standing in front of him._

_Leon. Deadly Career from District 2 and victor of the 73__rd__ Hunger Games. _

_Viatrix's breath caught in her throat. He was even more handsome in person than on TV with his defined features and short hair; black as the tuxedo he wore. But his moss-green eyes, which had shone with life during the Hunger Games, were strangely dull. Viatrix couldn't tear her eyes from them._

"_This is my daughter, Viatrix Reivan," Viatrix's mother gushed, scooting her daughter forward so she could shake hands with the eighteen-year old victor. _

"_It's a pleasure to meet you," is what Viatrix should have said. It's what she was trained to say in any situation like this. Instead, she blurted out, "I like your shoes." _

_In her peripheral vision, she could see the outraged look on her mother's face. But she was too lost in the twinkle that had appeared in Leon's eye. He looked a little more like the boy she remembered from TV. The faint traces of a smile pushed at his lips. "Thanks. I like your dress."_

_Viatrix looked down at the poofy monstrosity, wrinkling her nose at it. What she said next would treat her to an hour-long lecture from her mother when she got home._

_"Thanks. I don't."_

* * *

**The Night Before The Reaping**

What time is it?

Viatrix wondered, idly staring into the contents of her glass. It had to be well past midnight by now, but the party was still going strong. Despite her love of parties and meeting new people, this one felt rather dull. Years ago, she would have happily taken part in it. But not now.

_They should not be throwing a party the night before a Reaping. There is nothing to celebrate. Even when it was district children being sent to the arena, there was still no reason to rejoice. _

Viatrix spotted her mother among a group of women, her voice carrying through the banquet hall. Her father wasn't far, talking business or politics with an official-looking man Viatrix had never seen before. Barcenia, Saviel, and Saber, friends she had brought to the party, were making their way over.

Barcenia's doll-like features were flushed with alcohol. She was chastising Saber, her boyfriend, for making eyes at another girl. "What'm I, not good enough for you?"

"I wasn't checking that girl out! Why would I need to, when I have you?" Saber just grinned as he tried to grab his girlfriend's hand. "Please don't be mad!"

"You know I can't stay mad at you!" Barcenia yelled angrily, despite her words.

"Hey!" Viatrix greeted, waving her hand in front of their faces to get their attention. "What's up?"

"Hey, Vi," Saviel said. "You should come join us. There are plenty of hot guys to go around…until I snatch them up, that is."

Viatrix laughed. "Just when this party was starting to get dull. Sure, let's go!"

The two girls left Barcenia and Saber to their bickering, choosing to take up residence at the refreshments table. It was the perfect place to set up attractive-man-surveillance. Not that they needed to try very hard.

Viatrix's long hair was dyed with streaks of bright red, dark purple, mint blue, and lime green. Saviel called her a walking rainbow, but she didn't mind the insult. Her hair was a good conversation starter. Aside from that, she had a petite frame with no muscles or scars to speak of. All of the acne from her youth had cleared up years ago. Now, the first thing people noticed about her (aside from her wild hair), was her crystal blue eyes.

"Over there! There's one," Savial exclaimed, pointing.

"Shh, don't point!" Viatrix giggled, grabbing Savial's arm and yanking it down. But she followed her friend's gaze to see a blonde boy loitering at the end of the long banquet table, eyeing the punch. He was wearing a handsome tailcoat and his eyes were a pleasant shade of moss-green—

_Oh. _Viatrix's throat swelled with sadness. She turned and began to walk briskly in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" Savial called after her. "Does this mean you're surrendering?"

"Yeah," Viatrix replied, trying to keep her voice light. "Have at it."

_I'm done partying for tonight._

* * *

_**Five years ago…**_

_It was an overcast day. Dark clouds stretched endlessly across the sky in every direction, hanging low over the mountaintops. A strange rumble could be heard in the distance and tension buzzed through the air. _

"_Do you think we should have evacuated with the rest?"_

"_No. Those people are stupid scaredy-cats. No way the rebels are getting into the Capitol. My parents said so."_

_Percy could see Neleus looking at him doubtfully, but he felt no fear. Their family lived in the suburbs, a good distance away from the heart of the Capitol. In fact, their neighborhood stood high on a hill that overlooked the great city. From their vantage point, they could see many of the houses and empty streets beneath them. _

"_Those people aren't stupid. They just want to protect their families," Neleus muttered. "I would want to protect mine."_

"_Of course you would," Percy spat. "Your perfect little family. Gotta keep them safe."  
_

_Neleus tucked his hands behind his head and sighed. "Percy…you gotta stop acting like this. If you always act this way, you're never gonna have any friends and everyone's gonna hate you."_

"_Yeah?" Percy sneered, heaving his fat body off the curb to stand over Neleus. "Then why are you friends with me?" _

_He briefly recalled the first day they met. They had always been neighbors but never spoken, since Percy rarely left the house. But on the first day of school, Neleus came right up to him and said, "Our names are almost the same! Neleus and Perseus!" Like it was such a big freakin' deal. He could envision his friend's five-year old self perfectly: bright blue eyes, big grin, neatly groomed dark hair and that stupid baseball cap he always wore._

_He waited for Neleus to bring up the first day they met or the fact they were neighbors, but instead he simply said, "Because everyone needs a friend."_

_This caught Percy by surprise, though he didn't show it. "Hmph. What makes you say that?"_

_Neleus shrugged. "Well, how else could you play tag or hide-and-seek…or baseball!"_

"_Sports are stupid," Percy scoffed._

_Neleus hopped to his feet. "Fine, be like that," he said, looking unbothered. "Wanna see me do some tricks with the yoyo?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a red yoyo that matched his favorite hat._

_Percy paused, ready to put his friend down, as he always did. But then he decided, yes, he did want to see some tricks. "Can you...can you show me how to do a few tricks, too?"_

_Neleus nodded, then began to show off all sorts of crazy feats with his yoyo. The two were so absorbed in his talents, that they did not see the strange man further down the road, headed straight for them._

* * *

**Reaping Day**

"Percy…Percyyy…are you sleeping?"

A finger prodded Percy's flabby arm. The 13-year old boy was currently resting his bulbous head on his kitchen table, arms folded beneath him. His 10-year old brother, Parry, sat across from him. Today, he seemed intent on torturing him with his presence.

Parry brushed at the long, blonde bangs that covered Percy's eyes, trying to get a peek to see if his brother was truly asleep.

Percy swatted his hand away. "Don't touch me!" he snapped.

"Why are you in such a bad mood today?" Parry asked, obediently retracting his hand.

"Why do you think, genius? The Reaping is today," Percy said grimly. "Today's the day the district trash get their revenge on us Capitol kids! Sure, they say it's only gonna be a single Hunger Games, but what's gonna stop them from—"

Before he could explain properly, the door to their house unlocked and flew open. There stood a woman with blonde hair and the largest pair of lips Capitol plastic surgeons had to offer. The thick layer of makeup she had caked on this morning was slightly smeared. After a quick glance around the house, the woman pulled out a tiny mirror and began reapplying lipstick.

"Is your father home yet?" She asked, after smacking her lips together.

"No," Parry answered. "But he will be soon."

Percy's mother merely smiled. Then, without so much as a hello, she retreated upstairs.

Their father arrived home from work about ten minutes later. He was a broad-shouldered man with tiny glasses, a graying mustache, and the same blonde hair as the rest of his family. Percy knew he used to work as a consultant for a government official, but now he wasn't so sure anymore. He didn't bother asking because he didn't care.

"Hello dear!" Percy's mother said, racing down the stairs to give her husband a peck on the cheek. "How was work?"

"Busy," Percy's father grunted. "How much of my money did you spend on shopping today?"

Percy's mother giggled. "You'll be happy to hear I didn't spend a single cent! I know we need our money in a time like this, what with taxes raised to the roof. We must put food on the table for the little ones!"

Percy had to restrain a gag. This entire conversation sounded so forced. And both him and Parry knew their mother wasn't out shopping—she was seeing another man. Revealing this truth to his father would have been the ultimate debauchery and Percy often liked to imagine the consequences. But he didn't dare go through with it. When he hinted at her affair, his mother had said something along the lines of 'I'll smash your guts out if you tell your father.' And he believed her.

There was another poke on Percy's arm. He glared at his brother through his curtain of bangs.

"Do you want to play a game while we wait for the Reaping? It'll take your mind off it." Parry smiled.

"Do you want your face rearranged by my fist? Because that might help me take my mind off it too," Percy said, mimicking his little brother's cheerful voice.

Parry stared at him for a second, his lips puckered in a small frown. Then he stood up and left the room without another word.

"Yeah. Didn't think so," Percy snorted, and went back to sulking.


	5. Optimism

**Not much to say! Oh, except felicitea, one of our awesome readers who does fanart for the story, made a tumblr so it's easier to see her drawings. :) It's called al-liance. Dot tumblr, dot com of course. I just love the name so much. Enjoy this chapter and don't forget to review!**

"Oopsie…"

The beautiful vase that had been in Elara's hands a second ago was now shattered at her feet. She scratched her head, frowning at it. The floor was covered in dirt, too. _What kind of vase holds that much dirt, but no plant? …Oh, I see. It must be dust. _

She was considering cleaning it up when her boyfriend Titan walked into the room, holding a plate of sandwiches. When he saw the broken vase, the plate slipped right out of his hands and clattered to the floor. Elara frowned at him. Now there were two messes to clean up.

Elara's boyfriend gawped at her. "What the hell! What have you done?!"

"Ohh, dear. I promise I was going to clean it up," Elara said, bringing a hand to her cheek. "Do you have a trash can?"

"Those are my grandpa's ashes, you stupid bimbo!"

The realization slowly settled over Elara's features. Her lips formed a perfect circle. "…Ohhh…"

"Don't you 'ohhh' me!" Titan screamed, stepping forward to grab the collar of her dress. He gave her a firm shake. "What the hell am I going to tell my parents?!"

"HEY!"

Suddenly, the front door flew open. There stood Elara's 20-year old brother, Pierce. His face was contorted with rage, his brown hair seemingly bristling.

"What are you doing to my sister?!"

"Oh, hello, Pierce! Everything's fine," Elara said cheerfully, despite Titan literally being at her throat.

Pierce practically flew into the room and was instantly in Titan's face, shouting obscenities at him. Terrible threats of what he would do to him if he didn't let go of his sister right now sprayed from his mouth. The house seemed to quake from the sheer volume of his voice.

Titan instantly let go of Elara and scrambled for cover into another room. Pierce grabbed Elara's hand and dragged her out the door, still fuming. They walked for a few minutes in silence, putting good distance between them and her boyfriend's house. Finally, they stopped on a sidewalk and Pierce faced his sister with his hands firmly planted on his hips.

Elara blinked at him innocently. "What were you doing at Titan's house?" she asked.

"Don't you remember? You came home yesterday, crying, telling me what that idiot said to you. I told you not to go back there. But you did! What were you thinking?! Wait, don't even answer that…you weren't."

"Mmm…no, I guess not," Elara admitted calmly.

"I had to leave the Nut early to come get you. Do you want me to lose my job?"

"…Hm?" Elara was no longer paying any attention. They had been through this lecture many times before.

Pierce just shook his head. He no longer looked angry. Instead, he looked tired and downtrodden. "Ellie…" he sighed. "I thought you'd stop looking for trouble when we left the Capitol. There are fewer streets in District 2 for you to get run over on. Less crime, too."

"I don't look for trouble," Elara protested calmly.

"You're right. Maybe trouble looks for you," Pierce said, a fond smile passing over his lips for a brief instant. He patted his sister's shoulder, then steered her towards home. "Seriously, though, you gotta stop getting wrapped up in bad relationships. I might not always be there to bail you out. You're eighteen—start acting like it."

Elara giggled, but her voice sounded worn out when she spoke. "I can't help it. There are a lot of handsome young men in this district…I just want to be friendly when they approach me."

And they approached her _a lot_. Elara was too lazy to care about her appearance, but her curvy figure was enough to draw in the bad types of boys. She used to look more like a Capitolite, but not so much anymore. Her misty blue eyes and twisty, chestnut brown hair remained in their natural color. She wore cheaper clothes than she used to—the dress she was currently wearing actually had a few patches on it.

Nonetheless, she was like a foreign gem to the men of District 2. And when they came along looking for riches, she was happy to play their games and flirt a little. It kept her mind off…other things…

"Well, you're going to have to stop. These self-destructive tendencies of yours will be the death of you," Pierce said.

"Okay, _Dad," _Elara sighed, rolling her eyes. As soon as those words parted from her lips, she regretted them and her chest clenched with pain. She could see the hurt in Pierce's eyes as well.

It was just the two of them now. They had lost their parents in the Capitol and left behind that life of sorrow to start anew in District 2. They no longer had to be haunted by their parents' ghosts in that broken home. No longer had to fear that 'the incident' would happen again, and drain them of what little money they still had.

But as Pierce always pointed out, there was no way to truly escape their troubles. It was better to face them head-on than run away from them. Either way, his advice never quite sunk in. Elara usually spaced out during his long-winded lectures. And then she would jump right back into hot water, the first chance she got.

Little did they know, their troubles were about to get a whole lot worse.

* * *

Mobius stared dolefully out the window of his room, his gray eyes glazed with boredom. His pale reflection stared back at him. That unsightly appearance of his wasn't making him feel any better.

His mother usually carefully curled his sandy blonde hair, dyed with lime green highlights, into locks. Just in case someone might happen upon him. But today, he still wore his morning bedhead. His clothing consisted of a stained, white t-shirt and jeans. His mother had been too busy with her make-up to pay him any attention, so he wore what he wanted.

The 14-year old boy looked past his reflection, to the outside world. The street below was unusually sparse. Every so often, a Capitolite would strut past, on their way to work or perhaps going to attend a viewing party for the Reaping—that's where his parents were right now.

They had taken his older sister, Euclidea, with them, leaving the empty mansion to Mobius. Even if it was Capitol children being reaped, old habits died hard. There were a lot of little gatherings happening all over town today.

When they were gone, Mobius usually whittled away the time by getting lost in his own mind. There was plenty there to occupy himself.

One of his favorite pastimes was formulating strategies for old Hunger Games and revising them over and over. Of course, he could never test out these strategies to see if they worked. And it had been five years since the last Hunger Games, leaving him without any new material. He was bored out of his mind.

_Well, better being left alone than being showcased like some sort of pet, _Mobius thought, thinking of his sister. He only ever had to face that back during the rebellion, when his mother opened their mansion up to soldiers from the districts. They knew the tide of the war was turning, and decided to change their loyalties at the last second by letting strangers into their home. From there, it was one big pity party.

Luckily, that was how he met Syren's dad, and later, Syren herself. Hope bloomed in his chest at the thought of Syren, his one and only friend. Maybe she could cure his boredom.

Mobius hit a button on his wheelchair, powering it back on. He backed it away from the window, then steered it down the hall to where the phone was, in his parents' room. He wasn't supposed to be in their room, but he didn't feel like taking the elevator downstairs. He wanted to call Syren as soon as possible.

He punched in her number and held the phone to his ear, counting the number of times it rang. Five times before she finally picked up.

"Hello?"

"…"

Mobius didn't answer right away. There were a lot of voices on the other end of the line. Where was she?

"Hello?"

"Hello, Syren?" Mobius said, remembering where he was. "I was wondering, are you coming over to tutor me today?"

She didn't respond right away. Her muffled voice told him that she was talking to someone else. Then she came back on. "Mobius, I told you yesterday that I wouldn't be able to tutor you. Today is Reaping day."

Mobius frowned. "…Oh. Is it because you're at a party?"

Another long pause. Mobius wished he could have seen her face. Reading people was twice as hard over the phone. Finally, Syren answered, "I'm sorry, Mobius. I know it's Reaping day and I know you're eligible. But I'm not…since I'm from District 3. I just thought I'd hang out with some of my district friends today. Okay?"

"Fine," Mobius said in a clipped voice. He felt extremely annoyed all of the sudden. He didn't want to talk to Syren anymore. "Goodbye."

"Bye, Mobius. I'll see you next Monday."

Instead of hanging up the phone right away, Mobius waited for Syren to do it first. Right before she did, he heard her voice sigh to someone else, "Sorry about that. He can be really clingy sometimes. I'm pretty sure I'm his only friend."

Then the line went dead. Mobius lowered the phone and held it in his lap, feeling lonelier than ever. He stared at his atrophied legs for a few minutes, hating the sight of them.

Maybe if he hadn't been born like this, things would be different. He could be out with his family right now, walking alongside his sister in a flashy suit. He could be standing amidst a circle of friends. Instead, he was stuck here.

Despite all his creativity and analytical skills, he couldn't quite imagine such a situation.

With a heavy heart, Mobius rode his wheelchair back to his room. Just a few more hours of boredom. Then it would be time to watch the Reaping—alone.

* * *

This small gathering of family and friends was somewhere between being a party and a support group, Cicely noted.

The party was taking place wherever her father was. He was bursting with energy, shoving a newspaper in every guest's face, bragging about the column he had written. "To think, I was on the bottom rung of the ladder a few years ago. Now look at me! The entire Capitol is reading my work."

Then there was the little support group that had gathered around Cicely's mother. She clearly wanted little to do with their consolations, returning short responses or none at all.

Cicely loitered on the outskirts of the room, with her best friend Nevaeh. Their other friend Lou was mixing with the other partygoers. Her voice was one of the loudest in the room, coming in second to Cicely's father.

"Lou is such an attention-seeker," Nevaeh rolled her eyes.

"She's just having fun," Cicely said quietly, unwilling to say anything bad about her friend.

"Yeah, but she acts really different with huge crowds than when she's just with us. Didn't you notice?"

Cicely nodded. "Of course. We've even talked about it. She's just really into maintaining her social life…I actually wish I could be more like that." _It might be fun to stand out more, _she added silently, her cheeks heating up. But she could never stray from herself and maintain different personas. It just wasn't her.

"Aw, Cicely, are you getting jealous? You're too cute!" Nevaeh yanked her petite body closer so she could pat her silvery-blonde hair.

Cicely pulled away with a soft laugh, patting her long ringlets back into place. Sometimes Nevaeh treated her like a little kid, but she never told her to stop. She didn't want to provoke an argument—besides, they had been friends for as long as she could remember. That was just who she was.

"Anyways, Lou should stop focusing on her social life and start focusing on her future. Like me!" Nevaeh scoffed, returning to their former subject. "Good grades are my life. If I don't get into a good school and become a scientist, I just might kill myself."

"Don't say such a thing!" Cicely said, her eyes going wide with concern.

Nevaeh smiled down at her friend and waggled a finger. "You know I'm kidding! But come on, Cicely, we're both eighteen. Our number one problem in life right now is securing a career."

"And…this Reaping thing. Probably," Cicely said, pretending to think about it. Both girls laughed.

Unfortunately, that did not get Nevaeh off track. She went back to talking about her interest in science, ignorant to the fact that Cicely held little interest for the subject. But the kind girl kept nodding respectfully at each point her friend made. When there was a gap in the conversation, she finally managed to peel herself away, with the excuse that she was going to check on her mother.

Her mother's friends had all abandoned her at the kitchen table. Most likely, her bitter words had driven them off. Cicely approached her and sat down across from her.

"Hi, Mom. How are you feeling?"

Mrs. Tate looked up slowly. For a moment, her eyes were distant, but when they focused on her daughter, a little bit of life seemed to return to them.

Cicely thought she could see the love that used to sparkle in their depths, before the rebellion, before she distanced herself from her family.

"I'm all right," she said quietly, smiling sadly at her only child. "Just a little tired…and…worried about the Reaping."

Cicely tried to make her smile brighter than usual, wishing she could force some optimism down her mother's throat. "Please don't worry yourself about it! My chances of being reaped are really, very small."

"But what if the Reaping's rigged?" Mrs. Tate began to fidget nervously. Her eyes darkened with despair. "I'm a Gamemaker…_was _a Gamemaker. I should be in prison. Perhaps they pardoned me because they had other plans."

Cicely struggled for words of comfort. "They wouldn't rig it! That wouldn't be fair. And you were one of the newer, lesser Gamemakers. I doubt—"

"Just rub it in, why don't you?" Mrs. Tate said, her voice rising. A few guests heard the outburst and looked in their direction. "I had big dreams. I wanted to make a name for myself. But I'm just one big disappointment!" Her shoulder slumped and she bowed her head.

The room had quieted. Everyone was looking in their direction. Normally, Cicely would have tried to reason with her mom. But the amount of onlookers sent her heart pounding. "I-I'm sorry for bothering you," she stammered, rising from the table and quickly exiting from the room. She escaped into the hallway's bathroom and locked the door.

Cicely could hear her father shout something, trying to draw everyone's attention away from what just happened. She faced herself in the nearby mirror. Her pale skin was slightly flushed. Her dark eyebrows and bright red lips were draw down in a gloomy expression. She forced the corners of her lips back up and tried to smile at herself.

Her heart longed to return to previous times. Her parents had been extremely busy back then, and spent little time with her back then. But what time they did spend with her was precious—and her mother had been so different.

_Well… _Cicely thought, her smile brightening a bit. _It can only go up from here, right?_

* * *

_Oh Horn of Plenty  
Oh Horn of Plenty for us all  
And when you raise the cry  
The brave shall heed the call  
And we shall never fail._

_Grahh…_

Zion shook his head in an effort to clear it. Still, the tune continued to sound in his head with its dramatic, repetitive melodies.

Back in the day, he had sung the Capitol Anthem more times than he could count. But he hadn't sung it for five straight years, probably because he would have gotten arrested if he did. So why was it firmly rooted in his head, today of all days?

He tried to ignore it and focus on his family's conversation. It wasn't every day his brother, Saturn, came home for a visit. Of course, his mother had to go and whip up a huge lunch. Zion had helped cook the meat while she fried the vegetables, though it was a little on the rare side. Luckily, no one seemed to mind.

"So, Saturn," Zion's father said, tearing into a bite of beef. "How's business?"

"A little slow. Capitolites aren't as rich as they used to be, but there are some district folk who have been coming in for altercations," Saturn answered, chewing on a bit of zucchini thoughtfully. He looked at Zion out of the corner of his eye. "You know, you really ought to consider getting some work done, Zion. Make your eyes a little bigger. Lots of Asians are doing it."

Zion stiffened in his seat. They had this conversation every time Saturn came for a visit. He swore he wouldn't argue, for his mother's sake. This was a happy family gathering. He didn't want to upset her. "No thank you," Zion answered cordially. "I take good care of my body. I don't need to change it."

"Just think of it as a skin treatment. You get those, right?"

"It's different."

Saturn opened his mouth to further sell his point, but their father interceded. "Zion's a military man, just like his old man. He doesn't have time to worry about appearances." He turned his proud gaze to his 18-year old son.

Zion cocked an eyebrow. "Hey! What are you implying?" He whined in a joking, high-pitched voice. "I look great!"

Everyone laughed. The tension at the kitchen table had eased up considerably and Zion allowed himself to relax. He crossed his fingers his brother wouldn't bring up the issue again.

Zion acknowledged that he didn't quite look the part of a Capitolite and he was fine with that. His eyes could only be described as "squinty" and he kept his long, naturally black bangs swept to the right side of his forehead. He was about 5'9 with a square-shaped jaw and tanned skin.

But the first thing one would notice about his appearance was the muscle that decorated his lean body. As soon as he turned 14, he followed the path of his father and joined the military. He was supposed to have years of training before actually entering combat…key word being 'supposed to'…but desperate times had called for desperate measures.

Zion shuddered, pushing those dark times to the back of his mind. No. Now wasn't the time to think about that.

"So speaking of military, why aren't you there now?" Saturn asked, chomping down on his fork.

"We were given a few weeks off," Zion replied.

"So what have you been doing with yourself?"

"Just helping Mom around the house." Zion looked at his mother, eyes lighting up as though the two shared an inside joke.

She beamed at him, the corners of her eyes wrinkling fondly. "He's my good boy," she said, reaching across the table to pat his hand.

"Momma's boy," Saturn scoffed, taking a swig of water. He proceeded to change the subject to how much he missed home cooked meals.

Zion was only half-listening, thinking about his training. He didn't want to go back to the military. He wanted to stay here, with his mother. He knew she wanted him here, as well. If only his father weren't so gung-ho about him following in his footsteps…if only he could have been free to pursue his own dreams…

He closed his eyes, sighing wistfully. No, it was silly. And he couldn't risk disappointing his parents. Not when his brother was so successful. So he shoved his aspirations to the back of his mind, along with that awful Capitol anthem and the dark memories it held. It was getting awfully cluttered back there.

"Oh, dear…" His mother said suddenly, interrupting Zion's thoughts. "The Reaping is today, isn't it? Should we…should we turn on the TV?"

The shadow of fear that passed over her face made Zion's heart go out to her. He wanted to reassure her that there was a very miniscule chance that he would get reaped, but there was no guarantee. They would only be empty words.

"Let's not think about that right now," Zion offered, looking at each member of his family. "Let's finish our food first. Then we can allow ourselves to worry—but only for a little while. Anymore than that, and it can be damaging to our health."

"Momma's boy _and _a health nut, who refuses to get any work done, even at the promise of a family discount," Saturn said, rolling his eyes. "I can't believe I'm related to you."

But everyone laughed good-naturedly, taking Zion's advice to heart. It would do them no good to worry about something they couldn't control.


	6. Bitter Feelings

**We have all our characters! Check out the first chapter if you haven't already, to see the complete list.**

**HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who took the time to submit a profile. There were over fifty submissions, which is a number I was happy with. Thank goodness it was fifty and not eighty again. Still, lots of competition, so congratulations to those who made it!**

**To those who didn't make it, I hope there won't be any bitter feelings. Remember the Hoprocker pledge. I really do appreciate all the interest shown and I wish I could make everyone happy, but if I accepted every character, the story would suffer for it. As would I. I hope you continue to read the story, but if not, that's cool and I understand. For those of you sticking around, just sit back and enjoy the ride! Please keep you hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times or they might get cut off. Your organs will be donated to science if you leave a review. This is a terrible metaphor but that didn't stop me from copying it from my profile. **

**As a reminder, I'll leave this here. It was previously on the first chapter, in case you think it looks familiar:**

**By giving me a character, you're giving me creative license to do what I want with them. If you're going to throw a fit that they're OOC or they should have made it further into the Games or they shouldn't have died with all that blood on them, maybe you should consider heading on over to the My Little Pony archive and writing your own fanfiction. Speaking of which, don't get angry if your character dies. 23/24 tributes die and some wind up having to go early. That's the way the world works. Even if you offer me your first born in exchange for your character surviving to the top ten, I'm still gonna do what I want. /puts on yolo-swag sunglasses/**

Judith allowed her gaze to trail down her older brother's arm, along the unbroken golden chain that resided there; the one that matched her own. As his arm flexed, the tattoo almost seemed to ripple on his skin. She could practically hear the sounds of chains jangling in her ears.

"You know, you could help instead of just watching." Gamlen said, straightening up and wiping his brow. He was covered in dirt from the street. He gripped a broom in his calloused hands and a trash bag lay at his feet. His trusty hose was not far off. He was ready for any amount of cleaning the slums of the Capitol threw at him today.

Judith was currently perched on the steps of their apartment complex, with her two friends Lucretia and Xavier sitting on either side of her. They all exchanged amused glances at her brother's invitation. "Thanks for the offer, but I think we're good," Judith spoke up. "Look at it this way: at least you're getting paid."

Gamlen mumbled something under his breath and bent down to pick up a rusty old can. The shudder of disgust that shook Lucretia's body did not slip Judith's notice.

A moment later, she burst out. "I hate this! I hate living in this filth and I hate seeing Capitolites doing Avox work!" She turned to Judith. "Especially _your _family, of all people. Doesn't that upset you?"

"Trust me, the irony of our situation slips no one's notice," Judith said dryly.

Xavier leaned forward to peer around Judith and present Lucretia with a comforting grin. "Don't worry," he said earnestly. "Once you've lived here as long as me, you'll get used to the filth."

Lucretia let out a disconsolate wail. "I don't _want _to get used to the filth!"

"So do something about it!" Judith said suddenly, speaking with a fervor that surprised even herself. "Don't just sit around and complain about it. If you don't take action, you'll be left in the dirt. The world stops for no one."

Lucretia was stunned into silence. Xavier's simple smile never wavered. A few seconds after Judith had delivered her speech, he gave her a few slow claps. Gamlen laughed from further down the street. "Sure hope you're right, sis. Maybe there's a brighter future for the Batiatus family, if we have what it takes to reach it."

Lucretia did not comment on the matter any further, knowing her friend was right. Instead, she changed the subject to the most popular topic of the day: the Reaping. After that, they got into an in-depth discussion regarding the Hunger Games themselves.

"I wish the rebels hadn't won. Then the Hunger Games would still be going on and we'd be rich again," Lucretia sighed.

"I wouldn't," Xavier chuckled, but they paid him no mind.

"If only," Judith agreed. "They were entertaining. Better than that stupid new singing competition that premiered last year. 'The Idol Games.' What a joke. Of course they let someone from the districts win."

Lucretia smiled dreamily. "At least he was hot."

Judith rolled her eyes. _Ick. No, thank you. _"Going back to the Games, I always thought instead of arenas, there should be smaller areas with one-on-one combat. Like the gladiators of old, only it could be Careers."

"Careers only come from Districts 1, 2, and 4, though," Xavier spoke up.

"True."

Judith never understood why the outer districts didn't strive to train their children. It only could have benefitted them and their district. Oh well. They spent the next hour chatting casually and watching Judith's older brother slave away at his job. At some point, Xavier announced how long they had until the Reaping, and Judith remembered that there was somewhere she needed to be.

"Shoot!" She said, jumping to her feet. "My dad! I swore I was going to visit him today."

Gamlen came walking up. "I'm going with you."

"What about your job?"

He tossed his broom to the ground. "Screw it. I want to see Dad too. And I need a break from doing Avox work for at least one day of the week."

Judith felt an unexpected surge of warmth for her brother. "Are you sure? You could get fired."

"Maybe, if I'm lucky. Now let's go see Dad."

Judith said a quick goodbye to Lucretia and Xavier, wishing them luck in the coming Reaping. Lucretia merely sulked and disappeared inside the old apartment building. But Xavier was as smiley as ever, and wished Judith good luck too. At that moment, she felt more grateful for his friendship than ever and regretted looking down on his status in the past.

Then they left in a hurry. The Reaping was only a few hours away, and it was a long walk to the prison that contained their father. There was no time to lose.

* * *

It was so hard to believe that he had been sitting here, in this very spot in the basement, when it happened. When all was quiet, he could replay the scene perfectly in his head. His father and his older brother, Pan, standing on the steps. Locce had always thought Pan's brown stripes and whisker marks made him look silly. But on this particular day, it made him look as fierce as a tiger.

"Don't go out there!" His mother had kept saying. She was practically on her knees, begging them, clutching her husband's hand. "Pierce! Please!"

"We have to secure the house from the outside, Anita," Pierce said, eyes ablaze with determination. "We'll be right in and out. I promise."

It was a promise that couldn't be kept. Locce could remember the moment his parents' hands separated. He could remember the sound the basement door made when it closed. And when they never came back, he could hear his mother crying his name, repeatedly. She held him for what seemed like hours, rocking him back and forth.

"Locce…Locce…Locce…! Where are you?"

Locce blinked out of his stupor. He had retreated so far into his mind; the present had ceased to exist. It all came rushing back at once: the Reaping was today.

The basement door opened, allowing a shaft of light to cut through the darkness. Anita's silhouette stood at the top of the steps. "Locce! There you are. I should have known you'd be hiding down here in the dark. You know, you'd be pale as the moon if not for your altercations!"

Locce felt a flicker of irritation as his mother began chattering away about his chocolate-brown skin. That was from back in the day when he let his mother treat him like a doll—but not anymore. These days, he wore only dark colors, with the occasional white. Bright colors did not reflect what he felt on the inside.

Anita continued criticizing his appearance for another minute, saying he needed to do something with his black hair, and find a way to get rid of those permanent circles under his small, gray eyes. Finally, she steered away from that topic and asked if he was hungry.

"No," he answered simply.

His mother's eyes flashed with worry. "You skipped breakfast today, honey. Please come up and eat something for lunch."

"Fine," Locce sighed. He didn't have the energy to argue. Instead, he stood and walked up the stairs, dragging his feet. Just as he reached his mother, the doorbell rang.

Anita hurried off, wondering aloud who that could possibly be. She peered out the window, then trilled, "Oh, it's Circe! Locce, come say hi!"

Circe had been their neighbor since Locce was five. Anita opened the door to reveal the petite girl standing there. She was sporting her trademark teal hair and blue butterfly tattoos, as usual. Throughout all her different styles, those never changed.

"Good morning, Mrs. Palenciste. Good morning, Locce. My mom made muffins so we thought we'd bring some by!" Circe smiled brightly and held up a basket.

The tangy scent of freshly cooked blueberries reached Locce's nose. His favorite. Still, he couldn't find the strength to smile. But Circe looked at him with warm, understanding eyes as she handed the basket to him.

"Good luck with the Reaping," she said softly.

"Thanks," Locce replied flatly.

Circe parted with a friendly wave. "Tell your mother I said hello!" Anita called, before closing the door. "That girl is such a sweetheart. Locce, you should be grateful for a friend like her."

Locce didn't reply. He was thinking about the Reaping. Circe was a year younger than him, making her just as eligible as him. Though he would never say this to her, he hoped for the best.

A hand touched his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts. Locce looked to his mother, whose face was suddenly filled with unexpected warmth. Something pricked his heart in that moment. Perhaps a dusty old remnant of a forgotten emotion he no longer felt. Something he suppressed years ago because he didn't want to feel pain anymore. He knew he should have felt something more. This person smiling at him was perhaps the last person who loved him.

"Come on…let's get some food in you," Anita said kindly, giving him a gentle push in the direction of the kitchen. "Please, Locce. Don't make me worry about you."

An apology surged forth in his mouth, dying to break free and convey to his mother how much he cared for her. No matter how much she criticized him or coddled him, he loved her endlessly. She was all he had left.

But all he could say was, "Fine," while keeping the same expressionless face he always wore. Then, with a sigh, he trailed his mother into the kitchen.

* * *

"Today's the Reaping…isn't it?"

The lump in Gliss's throat swelled in size. Her father sounded so despondent. She wanted to reach out and hug him or take his hand, but that was impossible. She, her mother, and her two brothers could only nod at his image on the screen before them.

Her father sighed deeply, looking older than ever. His gaunt face used to be alive with energy. He used to be big and muscular too, but not so much anymore. "It's not easy keeping track of the days when you're in prison." He motioned to his current quarters—a small cell in which prisoners were allowed to contact their families through video. His family was currently in the visitor center, residing at one of its many computers.

Gliss tried to smile and force some sense of comfort through the computer's viewfinder. "Don't worry about it. Gavin can't even keep track of which month it is, much less which day it is."

"Hey, it's not my fault it keeps changing!" Her youngest brother protested.

Gliss's father chuckled, but Gliss could tell it was forced. His expression spoke volumes about what he was feeling. Fear that one of his children would be reaped. Shame that he could not be there for them.

His wife spoke up, voicing what was on everyone's mind. "Darius, sweetie, we're going to get you out of here one day! We'll make them see you had no choice but to obey the President's orders."

Darius shook his head. "Adriel…please don't give the kids false hope. I was the Chief Peace Commissioner, not some lowly commoner. I commanded the Peacekeeper forces to do unspeakable things for years and years."

"Only because it was your job!" Adriel said, beginning to get worked up. Her powder blue skin was turning purple. "You had a family to provide for!"

"Let's not talk about that right now," Her husband replied roughly. "I don't want to think about those days. I'm glad I was able to provide for you, to give you a comfortable life. But I was always busy, always working…I was never really there for you."

"That's simply not true!"

_Oh no… _Here came the tears. Gliss blinked her eyes rapidly in an attempt to clear them away. She didn't want to see her parents fight. Not today of all days.

"Kids, I know there's a pretty small chance you'll get reaped," Darius said. "But if it does happen, I wanted to say goodbye now. I love you. Stay strong."

"We love you too, Dad," Gliss said, reaching for her father's image. Her brothers echoed her sentiment. Darius smiled, his eyes shining with tears. He reached for them too.

Then a guard stepped into the frame behind him. "That's it. Time's up."

"Stay strong," Darius whispered one last time before the image blinked off. None of her family spoke. They just stared at where his face had been moments ago.

_Don't cry, don't cry, _Gliss thought, fanning herself. As soon as she was sure she could speak without crying, she declared, "I'm going to the lab," and stood up.

"Today of all days?" Adriel's painted-on eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Gliss shrugged, trying to replace her sadness with enthusiasm for her beloved internship. "Just for a half day! Uncle Orion said he was going to be working if I wanted to come by. I promise I'll be back in time for the Reaping."

"Okay, sweetie. See you then," Her mother said, pulling her into an unexpected hug. Gliss felt a sudden surge of affection for her, recalling how hard her mother had worked after her father's conviction. Despite all of their hardships, their family was closer than ever.

After one last farewell, Gliss headed for the door. On her way out, she passed a tall girl with black skin and a short, red triple mohawk. One of the girl's eyes was red and the other gold. Gliss avoided the girl's intimidating gaze, but stole a glance at a tattoo on the girl's right arm.

A golden chain. The distinguishing mark of a family that dealt Avoxes. Gliss could guess what she was here for.

After that, Gliss left and caught a bus to the lab. It was in a section of the Capitol that had been untouched during the war, thankfully. It used to be a place where molecular biologists worked on creating muttations for the Hunger Games, or defense strategies against the rebels. But then it was bought out by a rich research facility known as Corr Laboratories, from District 3. Nowadays it specialized in projects to aid their nation, such as cures for diseases and creating more resilient livestock or hardier crops. But there were supposedly still some wackier experiments going on behind closed doors.

When she reached the lab, a short, balding man with a green handlebar mustache stepped outside to meet her.

"Uncle Orion!" Gliss shouted, running to meet him. "My favorite uncle!"

"Hey, I'm you're only uncle, aren't I?" He laughed heartily, catching her in a hug.

Gliss grinned. Even if she had a thousand uncles, he would still be her favorite. He was the one who helped her family get back on its feet after her father's sentence. _And _he was the one who had pulled some strings to land her this thrilling internship, despite the fact that she was only seventeen.

"Come on inside, Gliss. There's no time to talk!" Orion grabbed her arm and began pulling her towards the building.

"Why? What's going on?" Gliss said, noticing the look of sheer excitement on her uncle's face. His mustache was practically quivering with anticipation. Curiosity sent her heart hammering.

Orion paused and leaned in close, unable to stop himself from trembling. Then, as if it were the biggest secret on the planet, he whispered, "I received a tipoff about a mutt in this year's arena. Come with me and I'll show you."

* * *

Despite the fact that it was Reaping day, Chip had decided to come into the lab to work for a half day. His supervisor, along with much of the staff, had taken the day off. That meant there would be no one approaching him with requests of grunt work. No coffee runs, no paperwork. He could focus on his current project, which was actually pretty fun: raising glowing plants.

He spent the morning observing chloroplasts under a microscope and taking notes. His supervisor said he could keep one of the plants when he was done. He couldn't wait to see the product of all his hard work.

Just then, two pairs of footsteps echoed down the hall from outside his workroom. Orion's blustery voice was instantly recognizable, but whom was he talking to? Chip glanced out the half-open door and caught a glimpse of a familiar hairstyle. Half of the girl's hair was white, and the other half was black. Her hair was pulled up into a high bun, fastened by a large black bow. She wore a white lab coat with a black skirt, and a pink scarf to add a pop of color.

It was Gliss. _Of course _it was Gliss.

_I just can't get away from you, can I? _Chip groaned inwardly.

Ever since he was a baby, his mother had been close friends with Gliss's parents. Memories of forced playdates played out in Chip's mind. He hadn't minded so much when he was little, when he had trouble making friends. Then, after the rebellion, after Gliss moved away, he realized he didn't need friends. And he certainly didn't need pretentious, oblivious friends like Gliss.

He had done his best to cut off contact with her after she moved. He focused on his studies and applied for a few internships. His mother had recommended this one, yet failed to mention this was where Gliss's uncle worked.

It was a popular, competitive internship, but Chip's application came out among the top three. Then it was time for the interview process. Finally, Chip rightfully won the job.

Then Gliss sauntered on in, thanks to her connections. They had said they were only taking one intern. Liars. He had worked hard for this, and now he had to be subjected to awkward conversations with his ex-friend. The worst part of it was that _she_ still thought of _him_ as a friend. She was working hard to regain an acquaintance with him that he didn't want. Probably because it made her look good. She wanted everyone in the lab to like her, so she'd be benefitted in the long run.

Chip stayed quiet as Orion and Gliss walked by, hoping they wouldn't notice him. Then he caught a bit of their conversation.

"…made connections. A friend of mine is working on the muttations in this year's Hunger Games arena. He sent me a…"

Orion's voice faded as he continued down the hall. Chip felt a burst of annoyance. _Now she gets to be in on all the secrets too?!_

Forgetting all about his special project, Chip darted from the room and trailed the pair down the hall, straining his ears to hear more snatches of conversation. Orion just get blabbering on about his connections and how back in the day, he'd come up with all sorts of designs for muttations. _Just get to the point already!_

"Let's duck in here. No one ever uses this room."

Orion and Gliss entered a small, dim room at the end of the hallway. They were about to close the door and seal him off from the conversation. Chip caught up and stuck his foot out to stop the door from sealing. He'd hoped to be inconspicuous about it, but Orion and Gliss were already looking at him.

Chip could feel his freckled face turning red. He ran a hand through his gray, cloudlike hair, in an effort to look calm. "Ah…hey…"

Gliss smiled at him, then at her uncle. "I think someone else wants in on your little discovery."

Orion arched an eyebrow. "Curiosity killed the cat, you know."

"I'm not a cat," Chip scoffed.

Orion just laughed, like Chip had been trying to make a joke. "All right, all right. I'll show the both of you. Just promise you'll keep it a secret, all right?"

"We promise," Gliss said in a hushed voice that made Chip want to roll his eyes for some reason. Instead, he just kept a straight face and nodded seriously.

Orion pulled out a little black box and hit a button on it. The contraption whirred to life. After hitting a few more buttons, the box projected a hologram into the space above it. The 3D image hovered between the three of them, about the size of a fist.

"…A praying mantis?" Chip said, less than impressed. It looked like your average, run-of-the-mill mantis. Was this a joke?

"Not a praying mantis. A Mantis-Man. This image doesn't do it justice, but this little guy is actually the size of you or me, and pretty intelligent to boot. Just check out those forelegs! Sharper than a tack. They could certainly impale a tribute, if they wanted to."

Chip's light blue eyes were wide with awe. He and Gliss unconsciously exchanged a look of surprise. As soon as he realized what he was doing, Chip allowed his usual cynical expression to fall back into place.

"Sucks to be a tribute," he muttered.

"Yeah…" Gliss said, pulling a grimace. "Don't go getting reaped."

"You neither."


	7. Beginning of the End

**Thanks for reviewing, everyone! We've finally reached our last batch of tributes. Here's an early update for you since I'm going to a nerd convention this weekend. I'm cosplaying Ness from Smash Bros/Earthbound and Eren from Attack on Titan. :3 I'M GONNA P.K. THUNDER ALL OF THE TITANS.**

**Also if you haven't already, you should totally follow the tumblr accounts al-liance and mexicancat-girl because they have been doing so much awesome fanart. It's just. You don't even know how happy it makes me to come home to stuff people drew for my stories. ;_; Amazing. I'm so glad there are people who are just as excited about this story as me. Read on!**

"_Betcha I can beat you to the top of that tree."_

That was the challenge that kickstarted Reyn's day. She had been hanging out in one of the Capitol's parks that had made it through the rebellion, with her three friends Davant, Brielle, and Arlo. They had been lounging in the grass when Davant pointed at one of the tallest trees in the park and issued the challenge. Reyn was never one to turn down a dare. Besides, she had climbed this oak tree many times before, although not to the top. It had a wide spread of branches, so there were many paths to choose from. It was the best tree in the park.

Reyn and Davant picked their starting points. "Ready…set…go!" Arlo shouted, chopping the air with his hand.

Immediately, the two young teenagers straddled the tree and began clawing their way up the trunk. Davant was stronger and was the first to reach a thick branch. "Better give it up, little girl!" he taunted as he pulled himself up. "You can't beat a big, strong man like myself."

"Watch me!" Reyn laughed. Davant was stronger, but she was quick on her feet. She imagined she was lighter than the air as her hands and feet skimmed the tree's bark. The burn in her muscles seemed to lessen.

The two of them climbed higher and higher. Davant was slowing down. They were more than halfway up the tree when Reyn ran out of sturdy branches above. Not far off, there was a better set to climb. But she would have to jump the gap.

Davant saw what she was planning. "What do you think you're doing?" He crowed, but she could detect a hint of nervousness in his voice. "You couldn't jump the gap between your teeth! Don't bother—"

Suddenly, two things happened at once.

Reyn let go of the tree and leapt for the nearby branch. In the same instant, a siren went off, causing her to slip and lose her momentum.

"REYN!" Davant screamed, as she began to plummet.

Twigs and leaves slapped at her face. For a moment, she was weightless, her hands grasping to clutch something, anything. The next thing she knew, she was hanging off a branch, dangling just ten feet off the ground. Brielle and Arlo were standing beneath her, arms held out, as if they thought they could catch her.

Reyn let out a short laugh, then let go of the branch, landing hard on her feet. Davant came scrambling down the trunk of the tree a moment later, looking worried.

"I could have died!" Reyn said breathlessly, a huge grin on her face, her blonde braid coming apart. Her veins burned with adrenaline. "Wow…let's do that again!"

"What are you saying?!" Davant raged. "Don't scare us like that, girl! Sheesh."

"Are you okay? You didn't hit your head, did you?" Brielle asked softly, looking over Reyn for any sign of injuries.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she did," Arlo snorted.

Reyn shook off her friends, instantly forgetting about her near-death experience. "What's up with those sirens?" she asked, her big brown eyes searching to locate the sound.

The energy among the four friends seemed to die. "Oh…I believe it means the Reaping is going to start soon. We'd better go home."

"Already?!"

Reyn felt her excitement level drop considerably. She wanted to hang out with her friends more. Sometimes she just needed to get away from her parents. Not that they were bad or anything—they all loved one another very much. But sometimes she felt guilty because they had to give up their dreams for her. Her father wanted to go into broadcasting and her mother never seemed totally happy in her marriage. They tried to hide it from her, but you can't hide things forever…

_I guess that's where teen pregnancy gets you! _Reyn thought, trying to force a laugh at the situation. She swore long ago that she would never make the same mistake.

She said goodbye to her friends, sharing hugs before each of them departed for home. Along the way, she passed a few Peacekeepers gathered on the streets. They were probably getting ready to collect the tributes that would be reaped. She tried to avoid their eyes, hoping they wouldn't recognize her. A Peacekeeper had once left his helmet sitting on the sidewalk while getting a refreshment. Davant had dared Reyn to paint a face on it and…well, she wasn't very good at saying no to those sorts of things.

Luckily, she reached her apartment complex without any hassle. Reyn's mother worked in a clothing store, and her father worked in a warehouse. They were definitely not among the upper class, or even the middle class. But as long as they had food on the table (which they did), then everything was fine. Reyn could just pretend she was rich, if she felt like it. Her imagination was plenty entertainment.

When she got inside, her parents were already situated with the TV on. "There you are! What happened to you?" Her father fussed, rushing towards his only daughter. He began picking twigs and leaves out of her hair.

"Climbing trees again?" Her mother just smiled and sighed.

"Yup," Reyn said, matter-of-factly. She pointed at her head. "Mom, can you redo my Katniss braid?"

"Sure, thing sweetie."

And the three of them settled down to watch the Reaping together.

* * *

"This is literally the worst day of my life," Perrin groaned. He was currently sitting upright on his comfy, queen-sized bed, watching a TV that was hooked into the wall of his bedroom. A phone rested in the crook of his shoulder, and from it emanated the nasally voice of his friend, Xanthe.

"Why's that?" The Capitolite girl asked from the other end of the line. "Because of President Paylor's decree? Because you think you might get reaped for the Hunger Games?"

"No, because there's nothing good on TV. Not since the rebellion," Perrin said. "So I'm being forced to watch a reruns of _Mutt Zoo_."

"So change the channel."

"Can't. Lost my remote. Voice command's broken. Don't feel like getting up. Want to come to my place and change it for me?"

There was a long pause from Xanthe, signaling she had lost interest in Perrin's terrible problem. Irritation caused him to grit his teeth. Not just because he had lost his remote, but also because someone who was supposed to be his friend couldn't show him a lick of sympathy. No, all she wanted to do was talk about _her _problems. Typical.

On cue, Xanthe changed the topic back to herself. "Ugh, get this. The pink in my hair is starting to fade, but there's no one around right now to dye it for me and I can't go out like this. I miss the days when there were Avoxes. I mean, yeah, I get it! The Hunger Games were bad. But did they have to take our servants from their jobs?"

"Don't remind me," Perrin hissed. Suddenly, he caught sight of his younger self on the TV. He sat up in bed, exclaiming, "I'm on! Turn on your TV."

Xanthe ignored him, going on to say, "Hey, how do you manage to keep your hair so blue? Do you dye it yourself? Oh, and I've been meaning to ask, how do you keep your earrings from scratching your phone because I'm always accidentally—"

_Beep._

Perrin tapped his phone, disconnecting the call. He had had quite enough of Xanthe for one day. She was barely tolerable when she was talking about herself. Right now, she had probably already called another friend and was raging about what a rude jerk he was, and how his hair looked awful, or something shallow like that. Predictable.

He returned his attention to the TV. Yeah, _Mutt Zoo_ was complete garbage. It was a gaudy show aimed at kids about a family that had a zoo of G-rated muttations living in their backyard. The father was your usual blithering idiot, the mother was empty-headed eye candy, and the kids were the stereotypical oh-so-adorable troublemakers that every child wanted to be. How on earth this show got greenlighted for a second season, he could never guess.

But…it was still a reminder of the good old days. If only Perrin had the sense to appreciate it when he was young. When people would come up to his nanny on the streets, asking if they could have Perrin's autograph. That was before all those other child actors came along and shoved his puberty-inflicted self out of the picture. Those smarmy, unintelligent, unloved germbags! They could never hold a candle to him!

"A shame, Panem doesn't know what they're missing," Perrin said, shooting a sideways glance towards his window. It contained a faint reflection of his perfect features—his prominent cheekbones, his neatly plucked eyebrows, and his short, wavy hair. He offered his image a confident smile, then struck a pose. "Don't worry! You'll have the chance to shine again. You're destined for great things, you handsome devil, you—"

"Talking to yourself again?"

Perrin turned to see his ten-year old sister, Flora, had opened his door a crack. Her brown eyes were alight with amusement.

Perrin grinned at the sight of her. "Get in here, you."

Flora giggled and skipped in, her brown curls bouncing. She leaped joyfully onto Perrin's bed while he cried out, "Careful, you'll wrinkle the blanket!"

"What are you watching?" Flora asked, turning her attention to the TV. Her face broke out into a huge smile when she spotted her brother's six-year old self on the screen. "Aww! Look how cute!"

"Daddy?" Young Perrin said to the man playing his father. The doe-eyed boy tugged at his father's sleeve.

"What is it, son?" The man said, chewing on the end of a pipe.

"Is it okay if I take the Dog-o-dile out for a walk?"

Canned laughter.

"Absolutely not!"

"…What if I already did?"

More canned laughter.

Perrin smirked. All of _his_ lines were the ones warranting the laughs.

"Perrin, why don't you go back into the acting business?" Flora questioned. "I mean, you totally were the star of this show! That's the only reason it got a second season. And you totally put the little sister character to shame. She couldn't act half as good as you!"

"I know," Perrin said, positively glowing at his sister's praise. "It's true. But Mother says I have to focus on school. I'll retake my fame once I've finished my studies!" He ended this statement with a flourish.

Flora looked excited at the prospect. "And when all of this Hunger Games stuff is past," she added. "You're fifteen, you know. You could get reaped."

Perrin shrugged and shook his head with a smile. "I hardly think we need to worry about that. Now come! Let's get something to eat. I'm starving."

* * *

Daphne stood in front of her bathroom's mirror, wrapping her straight hair into a short, neat bob in preparation for the day. Along with most of the hair on her body, it was dyed a dark indigo color. After doing her hair, she applied matching indigo lipstick and eyeliner, along with her usual white concealer. She spent a good amount of time on her eyes, adding mascara and eye shadow, but wound up covering them with her prescription sunglasses anyways.

_Oh, well. You never know when you might have to look good._ She stared at her reflection for a long moment before grinning at it, revealing sharp canines. During the 75th Hunger Games, she had convinced her parents to let her get these in homage to her favorite District 2 victor.

"Daphne?" Her mother's voice called from downstairs. "The Reaping will be on soon…"

"I know," she called back. "I'll be down in a minute."

The Reaping. Honestly, she didn't know what to think about the upcoming Hunger Games, having gone through many changes in the past few years. Years ago, she considered her interest in them to be childish. She got into the hype and bought all of the merchandise she could afford. After the rebellion, she sold all of that merchandise and tried to distance herself from them. But now they were back, and she could feel that old interest rekindling. She couldn't help but contemplate how she would do in the Games.

Her phone buzzed. Twelve new messages from Marian. _Ugh._

Daphne abandoned the phone on her bathroom sink. Marian used to love chatting about the Hunger Games, but Daphne didn't want to address that right now, lest Marian start reminiscing about the olden days. Her face turned red when she remembered how she had walked into school with sharp teeth for the first time, acting like she was Victor Enobaria.

Downstairs, she found her mother and her stepfather in the family room. Both looked fairly calm. _Of course. What do they have to be worried about? _

Daphne grabbed her computer off the coffee table, took a seat on a recliner, and began typing away at her online journal. Her stepfather had bought this for her a year ago, probably trying to curry favor with his new stepdaughter. She didn't condone bribery, but having her own computer was still pretty cool.

_It's Reaping day, _she wrote, lost in her thoughts while the rest of her family watched the TV. _I wonder what Dad would say if he knew they were having another Hunger Games, for Capitol children? He'd probably go on a rampage and shoot someone. _

Grief swelled in her chest like a balloon, but she controlled herself, and pushed it away. Her father was heavily pro-Capitol back in the day. As the owner and manager of the magazine _Verity_, it only made sense. He lived and breathed Capitol propaganda. And when he found out his wife had been slipping information to the rebels…well, it had been an ugly scene. Thankfully, there were Peacekeepers in the vicinity and away to prison he went. There he stayed for a few years, until he couldn't take it anymore.

Now, he was gone. With a chair and a sheet he had fashioned into a rope, he forged his own escape from prison. And this world.

Daphne shook off these memories and placed her fingers back on the keyboard. _A shame Verity was discontinued. Sales always did the best when the Hunger Games came around. I won't lie and say I'm not interested in how things are going to play out. I always enjoyed the action of the Games, watching brain win over brawn. Though I could do without the drama._

_And the gore. _

Ah yes, the gore. Too bad it was an absolute necessity when it came to the Hunger Games. When the time came for Capitol children to start getting dismembered, she would just have to look away.

Daphne powered off her computer and focused her attention on the TV. Miss Thimblelina Paylor, a relative of President Paylor's, was on the screen. She was speaking at a microphone. Two large bowls were on either side of her, bloated with little slips of paper. Seven slips of paper were in there, with Daphne's name on them.

"A final reminder," Thimblelina said, her hazel eyes boring into the camera. Daphne felt like the small woman was looking right at her. "This is not live. Officials have been dispatched throughout the city to collect the tributes, once they have been reaped. In order to avoid unnecessary violence, please remain calm and do not try to escape. Remember: this is a mandatory action that will help our country in the long run, by bringing us together. Please bear with me."

_This sounds a lot like old Capitol propaganda, _Daphne thought, hardly amused. _And trust me, I know how to recognize it when I see it._

* * *

"All done. You better get home, kid, Reaping's gonna start soon."

Ryiero sat up, observing the brand-new tattoo under his right arm. His eyes were still watering from the sting of the needle, blurring his vision. "Does it say it?" he asked.

"Yup. 'Constant love,'" His favorite tattoo artist said, turning away to cover up his smirk.

Ryiero still heard the snicker that came his way. He just smiled as he rolled down his sleeve, covering the tattoo. Not everyone was as sensitive as he. _If he wants to laugh at me, let him. Laughter is good for you!_

After paying the tattoo artist, Ryiero hurried home. Not just because of the Reaping, but because he and his bandmates were going to get some practice in beforehand. Good thing his house was pretty close to the tattoo parlor. He found his friends outside his house, waiting for him. His best friend Zotikos was having an argument with Origene and Onesimos, dubbed Gene and One, a brother duo who was in their band. Zotikos's girlfriend, Helena, was the first to spot Ryiero coming down the sidewalk.

"Hi Ryiero!" She waved, cutting short the boys' argument.

Ryiero felt his heart beat a little faster at the sight of her pretty face. Darn it. His on-off crush for his best friend's girl was currently set to 'on.' It usually switched to 'off' when Ryiero found a hotter girl to fawn over, but not today. It didn't help that Helena knew about his crush, but chose not to address it.

"What's up?" Ryiero said, trying to play it cool. He smoothed his light brown hair, making sure it was in its usual spot, framing his face.

Zotikos looked fairly annoyed. "What took you so long?"

"New tattoo," Ryiero said, puffing out his chest.

"Ooh, that's your third one, isn't it?" Helena said, eyes skimming his body, searching for it. "Can we see it?"

Ryiero squirmed self-consciously as her eyes glanced over him. He tried to keep his shoulders relaxed. "Later. But yeah, it's my third one. Think I'll get another piercing next." He tapped the piercing on his left nostril with a grin. "Anyways, enough chat! Let's do this."

Ryiero's mother let them into the house. The band made a beeline for Ryiero's basement, where all the instruments were already set up. On the way down the steps, Ryiero whispered to Zotikos, asking him about his fight with the brothers. Zotikos replied that the boys' attitudes were poor—they didn't care about the band and were only in it for the fame and money.

"What fame and money?" Ryiero laughed aloud. If Gene and One were in this for money, then they were stupider than initially perceived. "We've still got a long way to go before we're any good to take this public."

They took their places for practice. Ryiero was at the back of the tiny, makeshift stage, on drums. Gene was on guitar, One was on bass, Zotikos was on keyboard, and Helena was their guest vocalist for today. Ryiero couldn't help notice he had the perfect view of her backside from his seat.

_Whoa! Focus, dude! Off-limits. _"One, two, three, four!" Ryiero said, tapping his drumsticks together.

The band broke out into what his mother defined as 'noise.' They defined it as their new hit single, 'Constant Love.' Hence the new tattoo, which he couldn't wait to show off later.

"Love is not constant, love is not consistent, that's what they told you and meee," Helena wailed into the microphone, her voice echoing due to the room's poor acoustics. "Don't listen to the haters, I'll show you constant love, you'll seeee,"

"God, this sucks…" One hissed under his breath. "Who wrote this?"

The culprit grinned, not even looking at the drums as he banged away on them. His gaze was far away, fixed on Helena. He imagined her singing these words to him. He had actually written them, with that specifically in mind. Which was kind of ironic, considering his crush wasn't very consistent.

From his position behind her, Ryiero couldn't see that Helena was looking at Zotikos while she sang. He was so lost in her voice, that he didn't notice his mother come stomping down the steps. She yelled something that was lost in the music. Then she stood in front of the tiny stage, fuming, tapping her foot. One by one, the band members stopped playing, until only Ryiero was left.

He stopped halfway through a round of cymbal crashes, grabbing the golden plates to silence them. Then he looked at his mom with a joking grin. "Mom, you know the rules! You gotta pay to hear us play!"

It was a running joke in their household, but for once, Ryiero's mother did not look amused. "The Reaping is starting. Get upstairs, now!"

Everyone put down their instruments. "I totally forgot!" Helena gasped as Ryiero's mother shooed them all upstairs. His father was already seated in front of the TV, which contained the image of Thimblelina Paylor.

"It's time," she said, as everyone hurriedly took their seats. Ryiero could feel cold dread beginning to seep through his veins. He glanced around at his friends, all sixteen, all eligible.

Thimblelina reached for the bowl on her right. "As the tradition goes, we will start with the ladies…" A hard light came into her eyes as her hand dipped down into the bowl and closed around the first slip. "It's time for the beginning of the end."

**CHARACTER INTROS ARE DONE! Celebrate good times COME ON!**

**I'm guessing you guys saw the poll on whether or not I should have a character in my story. Nice to see the majority voted yes. But WOW, some people really voted 'no, you owe it to your readers!' Apparently, I owe my readers more than I realized. No, it wasn't enough to come back with a completely unexpected story when I swore I wouldn't. And it doesn't matter if I'm making no money off this and devoting a lot of my time to it. I should be catering to you guys at every whim. I shouldn't be making a single character to fill up a single precious slot. As much as I love creating and writing my own character, I owe you guys this much for taking so much time to read my story. I owe myself nothing for writing it. So I didn't make a character this time around. I hope you're happy.**

**...**

**BAH WHOOPS did I just create a character? And write them into the story? My bad! The self-entitlement of this site is scary but not enough to scare me into submission. Unless we're talking about SUBMISSIONS FOR MY STORY. /badum tsss/ Yup. I already know I can't please everyone. Let's finish up with a few questions, shall we?**

**Which characters stand out the most to you? Who do you think is the elusive Hoprocker character? What are you looking forward to most when we reach the Capitol? Which characters from past stories are you hoping to see return?**

**That's all I got! HOPROCKER OUT.**


	8. The Reaping

**Post-con depression. It was so, so fun…I did not kill any titans but it turns out they were just people **_**dressed up **_**as titans. Narrowly avoided a manslaughter charge there. On a more serious note there was totally a dude who was moving in to swipe my sister's bag while she was adjusting her belts but I gave him the old "if you take one more step I am going to go all Jaeger on you're a**" glare and he backed off. Ahh…the power. I will definitely have to be Eren again someday.**

**Let's talk about Fanfiction. Thanks for the reviews! I'm so glad you guys enjoy my characters and are fine with me writing them. ;_; Your opinions would make my heart soar, if it wasn't so busy pumping blood through my body and keeping me alive.**

**Welcome to 'The Reaping' or as I like to call it 'Let's See How Many Different Ways Hoprocker Can Describe People Being Shocked/Scared Before the Quality of Writing Starts to Drop.' That chapter title wouldn't fit. I put the names into a random number generator because I didn't know what order to put them in. And everyone got between 200-300 words. I hope you're all satisfied with that! Just pretend they're fun-sized.**

**BTW I am headed back to school soon so I'm going on a short hiatus due to packing, band camp, starting classes, etc. I need to take some time to plan stuff out too, I've got a ton of ideas but it's hard fitting them all together on a timeline, so that's a work in progress. However, I did select the victor and Bloodbaths. Easier to select those guys early before I start getting really attached, but always subject to change. :/**

**Time to get rolling with some fun polls! It's time for the ladies' favorite poll…which eligible bachelor would you choose to go on a date with?! As always, apologies to the dudes out there for not having the reverse version of the poll, but you're always welcome to voice the girl of your desire in a review. Results sure were interesting on the birthday poll…I really appreciate the people who offered to get me the Pigeon Dating Sim Collector's Edition. Let me just stick that in MY NEW CAR YEAH THAT'S RIGHT. I NOW HAVE MY OWN CAR. **

**GAWD I NEED TO SHUT UP ALREADY.**

"Our first tribute…Judith Batiatus."

Judith's mother gasped. All of the air seemed to be sucked out of the room in that single moment. Judith just stared at the TV, shocked, watching as her name was spelled out on the screen. For all of Panem to see. Gamlen's arms encircled her, but she barely noticed.

_Could it have been rigged? _She wondered. For some reason, she didn't feel any fear or sorrow…just flat-out shock.

Judith raised her head high to address her mother. "I can use this," she declared.

Mrs. Batiatus did not respond, her face beginning to pinch with grief.

"I can use this," Judith repeated, "to put our family back on top. I can build a new future for us as a victor."

The rest of her family didn't seem to share her confidence. Gamlen tried to force a smile as he squeezed his sister a bit tighter, but the worry was evident in his eyes. "You're right," he said. "Maybe this is the break we've been looking for."

"Maybe…you're right." Judith's mother said, nodding tentatively. "But…first, you have to win."

Judith pulled her mother into the hug. She held her family tight, wishing her father were there. At least she had made it in for one last visit. _No—not the last visit at all. I will definitely, definitely see him again._

"Don't worry," Judith murmured, in response to her mother. "I will."

* * *

"Second tribute…Eugenia Angelis."

Eugenia was unmoving at first, allowing her name to hover in the air. A wretched sob forced its way out of her throat. Then came the tears.

Her parents made no move to comfort her. Her father remained emotionally distant as always, radiating frigidness. Her mother just sat there, probably thankful that Zenovia hadn't been eligible. Thankful that she was losing her inferior daughter.

Just as bitter feelings began to cloud her sadness, warm arms wrapped around her. Eugenia blinked back tears to see Zenovia was hugging her. And she was crying.

Eugenia had always thought her life would be better without Zenovia. Then her parents would have no one to compare her to. But in this moment, she couldn't have been more grateful for her sister's existence. She hugged her back, but only for a brief moment.

Then she broke the hug and stood up, declaring, "I have to say goodbye to Helios and Sigrid."

"Fine, but make it quick," her mother said, glancing at the window. "The Peacekeepers will be here soon."

Eugenia ran to her room, once again throwing herself onto the bed with her beloved companions. This time, the occasion wasn't nearly as joyous. Tears ran uncontrollably down her face. As if sensing her pain, Helios sleepily rubbed his nose on her cheek.

"I have to go," The words all came spilling out at once. "Zenovia will take care of you. Please don't try to look for me. I love you."

She wished she could make them understand why she had to leave, but she didn't waste her breath. Instead, Eugenia simply kissed each cat on the forehead, stroked them for the last time, and left them snoozing on her bed.

* * *

"Next up…Junisse Cranton."

As soon as she heard her first name, Junisse's heart nearly stopped. Her body went numb with horror. If she had been standing up, she probably would have fallen to her knees. Her parents were instantly hugging her, trying to reassure her that everything would be okay. But she knew it wouldn't.

Fear had frozen her body in its grip and was pushing down on her lungs. She could barely breathe. The sheer terror of it all was so paralyzing she had to think up something to dull it. Anything.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The peaceful meadow she shared with her friends seemed impossible to reach. Instead, she decided on something else. _I'm a movie star, _she thought. _I'm about to star in my final movie. That's why I'm being filmed and interviewed…not because I'm a Hunger Games tribute._

Junisse opened her eyes, relatively calmer. She took a shuddering breath, then told her parents, "It's okay. I'm okay."

"Are you sure, sweetie?" Her mother said, holding her daughter close.

Junisse swallowed and nodded.

"Let's try and get your brother on the phone. Before…"

Junisse nearly lost control at the thought of her brother, Dyran. She would never get to meet the child he and his wife were expecting. She would have been an aunt within the month.

The dam broke and the tears came forth.

"Junisse, it's okay! After all, you..." Her father swallowed. "You have victor blood running through your veins!"

For a moment, Junisse's grief was replaced by shock. A long time ago, her father's mother had become pregnant after buying the affections of a District 11 victor for one night. Her family never spoke of it. But now...maybe it was the one thing that could give her hope.

* * *

"Gliss Feenix."

"Gliss!" "NO!"

The peaceful scene in their family room transformed within seconds, thanks to those two words. Tears were in everyone's eyes, including her own. She took a deep breath and blinked them away, trying not to cry. She always tried to have a smile for her younger brothers, especially when they had lost their father. But it was so hard. Her chin was trembling uncontrollably.

"Hey…I'm just glad I got to say goodbye to Dad…when I did," she laughed weakly, hugging each family member in turn. She sniffled, her chest hurting from the amount of pain that was locked away. "Y-you two better not get reaped or I am seriously…going to hurt someone."

No one said anything to that. They were clinging so tightly to her, it hurt. Gliss wished they could have remained that way forever. She didn't want to let go…

_I hate this… _Gliss thought tearfully, embracing her mother. A spark of frustration lit in her heart like a tiny flame. _These Games are only going to breed more hate. Bringing them back after so much progress is insanity…pure insanity…_

_The first seventy-five led to a rebellion. How is this one going to be any different?_

* * *

_Stay calm, stay calm…_

Thimblelina pulled the name of the next victim. After a brief hesitation, she read, "Daphne Beaumont."

_Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm!_

Daphne began pacing back and forth, biting her thumb. Biting until it hurt.

"Sweetie…" Her mother began to move in to comfort her.

"Stop!" Daphne said, with a little more force than she intended. "I'm sorry—I can't—I just can't afford to start crying right now. It starts here. I have to look capable. I have to."

Her parents' expressions softened, completely understanding how serious their daughter was about this. Sometimes, sponsors were everything. Her panicked mind and rushed thoughts felt like they were going to bubble over, but she had to remain calm. She couldn't let the cameras catch sight of her face covered in tearstains.

"I'm sorry, honey, I won't say anything to upset you. Just let me say…good luck." Her mother said, respectfully keeping her distance. She only touched her daughter's shoulder.

Daphne nodded. For a moment, her serene façade was lost, and a look of fear rippled across her face. Then it settled, like calm water on a lake. Once she was sure she had her emotions under control, she said goodbye to her mother and stepfather. Then she lowered her sunglasses onto her eyes. It was time to go.

* * *

The party Viatrix had attended continued well into the night and was still going in the morning, albeit with a good amount of people passed out on couches. Viatrix had somehow made it through the night without a wink of sleep. Everything that came out of Thimblelina's mouth seemed like muffled mumbo-jumbo. Until she spoke the name, "Viatrix Reivan."

She was certain she had imagined it, until her mother screamed, "My baby!" She was instantly wide-awake. Everyone was crowding around her, shouting at her, but their voices blended into mush. Viatrix looked around, terrified.

Her mother caught her in a crushing grip. "I won't let them take you!" She sobbed. She looked to her husband. "Come on, Mardon, we're getting her out of here!"

For some reason, Viatrix found herself smiling. Her gut reaction was to laugh at horrible situations, making her think there was something wrong with her brain. Now, here she was smiling and about to head into the Hunger Games. The one thing she hated more than anything.

"Don't," She told her parents. "I don't want you getting into trouble. Let me go, please."

Her parents relaxed their grip. Viatrix could hear her friends crying out for her. Savial was staring at her best friend with impossibly wide eyes, as if she had suddenly turned into a three-headed alien.

"I love you," Viatrix addressed everyone. "Please don't do anything crazy. I couldn't bear it if you did."

Her parents exchanged a glance, looking as if they still wanted to make a break for it. But then her father nodded. "We love you too. We promise, we'll stay put. But you…you have to promise to come home."

Viatrix kept on smiling. "You know I can't."

* * *

Elara was currently blathering on and on to Pierce about a dream she had, barely paying any attention to the Reaping. He looked annoyed, but she took no notice, intent on sharing her reverie. "I was living on a cloud. Then this giant bird, bigger than the statue in the square, it alighted next to me. I thought it was going to eat me, but then it let me climb on its—"

"Elara Blackwood."

Elara fell silent.

The siblings stared at the TV, frozen stiff. They had heard Elara's name, as clear as day. It had penetrated the tiny room they resided in. Now it was being spelled out on screen. Pierce's face contorted with disbelief. Elara couldn't find the strength to close her jaw, and so she sat there with her mouth hanging open.

…_Oh._

She gazed past the TV, into space. Her brother said something to her, but she didn't hear it. She felt as though she had become detached from reality. Her string to it had been cut and she was drifting away…drifting away into space…

Pierce grabbed her shoulders and gave a firm shake. He was yelling something. Tears were trailing down his face. Elara barely noticed him. She just continued staring into space, despair threatening to consume her.

_I guess…my parents died for nothing, then._

* * *

Tully had sent out messages to all her friends before the Reaping started, wishing them good luck. She wished Lucilla were here, so they could cling to one another and gasp with relief when they avoided getting reaped, but she was home with her family. Besides, that gasp of relief would have to wait.

"Tullia Voss."

Tully's heart skipped a beat. The next second, it was pounding against her chest, as if trying to escape this grim new fate. She stumbled a step back, pressing her hands to her forehead. Tears streamed down her face. Her parents moved in to comfort her, but her thoughts were racing a mile a minute.

All those nightmares she had watched unravel during the Games. They were reality for her, now. And the muttations. _Oh God, not the muttations. _She had feared those more than anything, grateful that a screen separated her from their terror.

_This is all a bad dream, right? _

The phone rang, bringing Tully back to reality. It was most certainly Lucilla calling, but she didn't have the strength to answer. Tully cleared her throat. "If…If I had tried to be a better person…would this have never happened?"

"Sweetie, of course not!" Her mother cried, holding her close. "You're a _wonderful_ girl. Don't ever doubt yourself!"

"We love you more than anything," Her father agreed. His voice was raw with pain.

Tully's throat closed with sorrow, making her unable to respond. And so she just cried into her mother's shoulder, wishing against all odds that she didn't have to say goodbye.

* * *

"Cicely Tate."

An elbow jabbed Cicely in the side. Nevaeh was looking at her with wide eyes, waiting for her to say something. Everyone in the room was. No one spoke. Cicely just bit her bottom lip and balled her hands into tiny fists. She was afraid if she spoke, all of her contained tears would pour forth.

Then an ear-piercing scream went up from the corner of the room. "I knew it! I knew it. I knew she'd be reaped!" Cicely's mother was sprawled across the kitchen table, bawling. Her entire body shook with sobs. A few people looked like they wanted to go in and comfort her, but they remained where they were.

"Mom…" Cicely said, voice quavering.

Her mother continued to wail. Someone reached out towards her, but she tore out of reach.

"MOM!" Cicely shouted.

Mrs. Tate's cries transformed to quiet whimpering.

"What's done is done," Cicely said quietly. "Please stop."

Surprisingly, she obeyed. Lou came running up and threw her arms around Cicely. Her eyes were glistening with tears. "How are you not crying?" she whispered.

_Trust me, I'm crying on the inside. _Cicely forced a smile, holding onto her friend. "Because of our bet. Remember?"

Lou didn't respond. Her friend had always bet that anyone who cried upon getting reaped would wind up a Bloodbath. Cicely always bet against her, holding out hope for them. Lou usually won.

That's why Cicely told herself she wouldn't cry. No matter what. She definitely, definitely wouldn't cry.

* * *

"Reyn Monrove."

Reyn's jaw dropped, her brown eyes going impossibly wide. The pained cries of her young parents barely reached her ears. She felt cold, as if she were made of ice. She couldn't move, she couldn't think. Everything was a blur. Not until her mother grabbed her hand, did the ice melt into water.

Tears poured from her eyes as she began to hyperventilate. Her lungs burned as she fought to draw air. There she stood, gasping and crying as her parents hugged her, trying to calm her down. "Shh, shh." "Sweetie, you're tough. You can do this."

Empty words. The Hunger Games had always seemed so far away, like fairies or dragons. With all the crazy technology and odd muttations, none of it had ever seemed real. It was fiction, just like any other movie.

But she was smart enough to know that wasn't the case.

Reyn cried until the Peacekeepers came to pick her up. She wanted to say goodbye to her parents. Maybe apologize, for holding them back from their dreams. But she was too panicked to get a word out. And as she walked out the door, she knew she would regret that for the rest of her life.

* * *

Horatia was watching the Reaping with her father, stepmother, stepbrother, and stepsister. Or rather, she was teaching her two-year old stepsister Nemosine how to paint her nails without making a mess. She almost didn't hear her name when it was called.

"Horatia Vici."

Hearing Thimblelina announce her name was like a punch to the gut. She looked up at the shocked faces of her family. Nemosine kept glancing at each family member in turn, confused. Horatia tried to clear the shock from her eyes and smooth out her expression.

"Oh…that's cool, I guess," she said, pretending to be more interested in her nails. "Ugh, my cuticles are a mess. Nemosine, pass me that filer."

"You're not upset?" Horatia's father asked, looking befuddled.

_If you were around more often, you'd be able to tell, _Horatia thought, rolling her eyes. But that was just the way her family worked. They were all happy to be off doing their own thing. "Maybe a little. But c'mon! I'm a celebrity now. I get to experience what tributes experience. Chariot rides, interviews, the ball—" –_the Bloodbath, murderous tributes, muttations…_

She rose to her feet, smiling. "Well, I'm going to fix myself up real quick and be on my way. Gosh, I can't imagine what my friends are going to say. Hold all my calls!"

With that, she strutted from the room.

During the rest of her time at home, the phone remained silent.

* * *

"And our final female tribute…" Thimblelina let out a long sigh as she plucked the final name from the bowl. There was a pause. Then—"Brianne Ravelle."

An animalistic screech pierced the house of the Ravelles. Brianne burst into hot fiery tears. She wanted to scream at how unfair it was. She was _so close. _Why did the last name have to be hers? Why?!

She couldn't even put her rage into words. Ferocious screams just kept ripping their way out of her throat. Only when she saw the fear in her little cousins' eyes did she manage to form coherent words.

"Screw this! I'm not going," she spat, panting heavily.

Her uncle tried to hug her, but her temper refused to go down. Only a few minutes had gone by when there was a knock on the door. Brianne yelled for them not to open it, but it was too late. In came the Peacekeepers, prepared to take her away. She backed away from them with a glare, feeling like a cornered wild animal.

One seemed to realize how difficult this was going to be. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," he warned.

"The hard way," Brianne decided, narrowing her eyes.

Outside the Ravelle house, cameras caught sight of Peacekeepers carrying a squirming Brianne out to a waiting car. All dignity had been thrown to the wind. But Brianne didn't care—she was going to fight this until her very last breath.

* * *

"We're halfway there. Now it's time to select our twelve male tributes…please stay with me." Thimblelina couldn't have looked more tired as she pulled the second bowl of names towards her. "Our first male tribute is…Casca Vaesley."

Alayne cried out. Casca just blinked. _Well…that was certainly unexpected. _

He was sure the Reaping would be rigged. He was so sure he would be safe, especially after his father had tried to help the districts. Speaking of his father…

"I'm not going to let this happen," Cyrus said gruffly. "The Reaping should have been rigged. There's no way you should have been reaped." He made a move towards the phone, like he thought he could call someone and get Casca's name taken out of the running.

Casca knew that was impossible. "Let it go," he told his father. "It doesn't matter if I was chosen by chance or design. I was chosen, and that's all that matters. So…I'll be taking my leave then."

He forced himself to relax as he said goodbye to each family member in turn. Alayne threw her arms around him and squeezed him. Casca hugged her back, then tried to pull away, but she didn't let go. He just smiled and patted her head, staying like that until the doorbell rang.

* * *

Here came the next name. As soon as Thimblelina laid eyes on it, her frown deepened. "L…Lossy…Lotchay…"

"_Lock_," Locce muttered, correcting her on the pronunciation of his name. Before she had even called the last name, he already knew it was him. Just his luck…

"Locce Palenciste."

Locce's face remained smooth and disinterested as always. The only difference was that one of his eyebrows was slightly quirked. _Huh. I was reaped, _was all he could think. He knew he should be feeling a wide array of emotions at this point, but he was too tired to care.

His mother hugged him and began crying on his shoulder. "Locce…don't go…don't leave your mother all alone."

_Impossible. I have to go, _Locce thought. For a minute, he just stood there as his mother embraced him and brushed at his hair with her fingers, peering into his eyes for signs of life. He just stared ahead blankly. Then slowly, he raised one arms and wrapped it around her, pressing his hand to her back.

It was his simple way of letting her know he was still here for her. At least, for the next few minutes. Until he had to leave her alone, forever.

* * *

The orphanage had no TV, and that's why Lance was currently standing in the city square, with the rest of the orphans. There were multiple screen there that usually flashed advertisements, but today, every one of them contained the image of Thimblelina Paylor. She was about to announce the third name.

Lance wasn't sure if he was being paranoid, but there were Peacekeepers nearby, just outside the crowd. They were whispering to one another. And he could have sworn they were looking in his direction. He was so distracted he nearly missed his name being called.

"Lancelot Palmer."

"Lottie!"

Any other time Gwen had screamed his cursed nickname that loud, Lance wouldn't have spoken to her for the rest of the day. But he was too shocked to say a word. Fear and anger surged up inside him, like a growing fire. This was ridiculous. What was his sister supposed to do now, without him?

Very aware that everyone was watching him, Lance tried to show no signs of vulnerability. He pulled Gwen close to him. "I love you, Gwen," he whispered, trying to pretend that the tears streaming down her face didn't exist. "I'm sorry I have to go. Goodbye."

He broke away from her. "No!" Gwen cried out, reaching for him. "Don't go!"

But he was already out of reach, maneuvering through the crowd towards the waiting Peacekeepers. On his way there, he caught Fischer's eye. _Take care of her, _he wanted to say. He could only muster enough energy to give him a sad glance.

Nonetheless, Fischer's eyes shone with understanding and he nodded.

* * *

"Antony…"

"Hrrrrnnnghhhh," Antony responded, hoping that annoyed grunt would be enough to make his parents leave him alone. Couldn't they tell he was trying to sleep? Marathoning the Hunger Games and eating all that junk food had been fairly taxing. He needed his rest.

A gentle hand shook his shoulder. "Antonyyy…" his mother's voice continued to sing, collapsing his dreams and bringing him back to reality.

He opened his eyes grumpily. He still wore the same clothes as yesterday and his lilac hair was askew. "_What_?" he grunted.

"You were reaped, darling."

Antony's chest was seized with shock. He just gaped at his parents, thinking they had to be joking. But their sad expressions told all. And there on the TV, was his name.

"What?! Why didn't you wake me up?" Antony said, springing to his feet in disbelief.

"You were sleeping like an angel…I didn't want to," His mother admitted tearfully.

Antony couldn't believe his. His thoughts were running wild and he was barely aware of his surroundings anymore. _Why me? _He kept wondering. _Why not somebody else? Is it because of my outfit? Is this life telling me it's time to change my style? Does the big man upstairs, or whoever the hell is running the show, not like lilac? Ohh, screw my life…_

* * *

He should have known it was coming. He never could get away from Gliss, and if she was reaped, he was bound to follow. And he did.

"Chip Weiger."

It totally blindsided him. He was ready to groan and ignore these Games, quite positive that he had no chance of being chosen. It didn't seem possible. It was the kind of thing that always happened to someone else.

Chip's mother Roulay, his only family member, began to cry. It took Chip a moment to realize he had stopped breathing. After taking a few deep breaths, he tried to comfort his mother.

Roulay tried to smile at him through her tears. "I wish you could have met your father."

Her words were so unexpected that it completely threw Chip off. He stared at her, wordless. His mother never mentioned his father. When he was young, he liked to imagine he had died a brave or mysterious to death. As he grew older, he stopped caring. But then all of that curiosity came flowing back upon his mention.

"Can you tell me…what exactly happened to my father?" he asked carefully, hoping that his mother would tell him.

Roulay hesitated. Then, bowing her head in shame, she confessed. "It was a one night stand. But I assure you, he was a wonderful man."

Instantly, all of Chip's childhood fantasies collapsed. They had been ridiculous, but it was still disappointing to find out his father hadn't disappeared on a secret spy mission while in Europe. And a one night stand, of all things. _Figures._

"I see. Thank you for telling me," Chip said, trying to hide the sadness in his voice. "I guess…this is goodbye then." _Sorry I have to ditch you like he did._

* * *

"Perrin Halliday."

"Damn," Perrin said, stunned. His brown eyes went wide as his named appeared onscreen, confirming his entry into the Hunger Games.

"Don't curse," Perrin's mother Elissa hissed under her breath. As if him cursing was a bigger deal than him getting reaped.

Perrin tried to smirk, though it wavered on his lips. "What's wrong, Mom? Aren't you upset that your precious trophy is going into the Hunger Games? And after you spent so many years polishing it to perfection…what a waste."

"Don't speak to your mother that way," Perrin's father Valerian growled. Elissa merely pursed her lips, looking annoyed at her son's crassness.

Perrin could smell a lecture from a mile away. "Whatever. You know it's true. I'm out!" With a lazy wave, Perrin started heading for the door. Before he had taken two steps, something clung to the back of his shirt and held on.

It was Flora. Her head was bowed, but he could see tears dripping onto her pretty dress. Perrin tilted her face up so he could peer into it. "Chin up, kid. Your big brother's gonna be even more famous than he already is. Maybe you can ride on my coattails."

Flora began to smile. Perrin turned away, upon hearing a faint sound coming from outside. When he opened the door, he was met with a group of Peacekeepers, as well as reporters. Cameras flashed as people struggled to get a clear shot of him.

A huge grin appeared on Perrin's face. He was completely the center of attention now. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

"Next…Mobius Fraus."

For a long moment, Mobius just stared at the TV screen, wondering what exactly he was supposed to do. Stay here and wait for the Peacekeepers? Leave and turn himself in? He wondered what their faces would look like when they spotted him rolling out in a wheelchair. Probably what everyone's faces looked like when they laid eyes on him.

Mobius felt strangely detached as he imagined what was to come. He knew how serious and hopeless the situation was, but…it wasn't sinking in for some reason.

Just the, the phone rang, snapping him out of his daze. He picked it up, only to discover that it was his mother.

"Mobius! Don't go anywhere. We're coming home!" She sounded breathless, as if she were running. He could hear the voices of his father and his older sister in the background.

"…I guess you must feel pretty bad for leaving me here all alone. Now that I've been reaped," Mobius said flatly.

Mobius heard his mother start to protest, but he turned the phone off. Then he took the elevator downstairs and wheeled himself right out the front door, not bothering to lock it behind him. He had decided that he'd be considerate and save the Peacekeepers the trouble of coming to him.

* * *

"Perseus King."

A long silence followed those two words. The entire King family just stared at the TV, as if expecting Thimblelina to say 'Just kidding!' and select another tribute.

Percy opened his mouth to say something snarky. At least, he aimed to. What came out was more like, "BAWWWWW!" Uncontrollable wailing poured from his throat and didn't stop.

A sharp smack to the back of the head cut Percy off. "Enough!" His father Aloysius growled. "No son of mine is going to cry like a baby. You're going into that arena with your head held high, like a King."

Percy nodded wordlessly, chins quivering. At that moment, the phone rang. Aloysius departed the room without a second glance. His wife, Lani, went racing past him, shouting, "I'll get it!" in case it might be her fling.

Parry took the opportunity to try and hug his brother. Before he could fully get his arms around him, Percy shoved him away.

"Stop hugging me. I'm not a baby, I don't need you to comfort me."

"Sorry, Percy," Parry said, sniffling. "I just—"

"Shut it," Percy said, wiping the tears and snot dripping down his face. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a red yoyo. Determination burned in his chest at the sight of it—his token. "I-I'm going into that arena, just like Dad said. I'll show those district scum. I'll show 'em all!" His fist closed tightly around the yoyo and his lips drew back in a toothy snarl. "They're gonna regret the day they messed with King P!"

* * *

Ryiero was glad he was in a room full of his friends and family when they spoke his name. "Ryiero Lynn," Thimblelina Paylor declared. He didn't even hear the next name because his loved ones engulfed him.

Like any other tribute, he was shocked. But after taking a moment to compose himself, he managed to put on a confident face. "Hey, hey, it's okay!" he called loudly, speaking over his family members. He shrugged. "I was reaped. What can ya do? Nothing, that's what."

Helena suddenly threw her arms around him. Ryiero couldn't help but grin, a warm feeling in his cheeks. He looked over his crush's shoulder to see Zotikos, his face fresh with worry.

"You're way too chill about this," he mumbled.

Ryiero released Helena and pounded his best friend on the back. "Eh. I've got just as much chance as anyone!" He turned his attention to his father, very aware that his heart was picking up speed. If he stayed in this room much longer, it might burst.

His father's eyes were moist with tears. "You be careful out there," was all he could manage to say before choking on his words.

Ryiero hugged each of his parents in turn, silently hoping that he wouldn't have to disappoint them.

* * *

"Zion Kim."

His mother's cry of pain nearly broke Zion's heart. Tears sprang from her eyes. He stood there, frozen, as the rest of his family went to console her.

_No…no…not again. I swore I wouldn't make her cry again._

Zion could feel his own tears forming. When he was young, he had gotten into so many fights at school. The day he stumbled upon his mother crying and sobbing, 'I didn't raise him to be like this!' to his father was the day he swore to become a better person. He didn't want to make her cry ever again.

But she did, when he joined the military. And now, here he was, about to enter the Hunger Games. Why couldn't he stop hurting the ones he loved?

Zion grabbed his mother in a fierce embrace and held her. "I wish I could take all your pain and carry it for you," he choked out.

Zion's mother smiled through her tears. "That's what the parent is supposed to say. I love you more than anything, Zion."

"I love you too."

Then Zion's father grabbed him by the shoulders and began talking Hunger Games. "Zion, just look at yourself. You really have a chance. You just might be able to win this!"

But Zion remained numb to his words, still immersed in the pain of his broken promise. _I'm sorry, Mother…I'm so sorry…_

* * *

The sizzling smell of bacon filled the _Hera's Haven Restaurant and Bar. _At the moment, Duke was the only one in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for a lovely couple at table seven. Everyone else was crowded at the bar, watching the Reaping. Thankfully, business was practically dead this morning.

"Duke!"

He could hear Caius calling faintly from the bar. Duke felt a twinge of annoyance. He didn't have time to hear about the latest bar fights. There were people to serve.

"Duke!"

That voice belonged to his friend Nora. He almost didn't recognize it; she never spoke so loudly unless it was important. But cooking this bacon to perfection was more important, at the moment. He needed it to be just the right consistency. Nice and crunchy without being burnt…he was almost there…

"DUKE!"

Duke abandoned the bacon and went sprinting from the kitchen towards the bar. "Yes, Chef?" he panted, jogging up to his father's side, worried that he was about to be reprimanded for something. Instead, his father just pointed to one of the bar's many TVs, his eyes wide with shock.

Duke followed his gaze. There, on the TV, was his name. Duke Travers.

He had been reaped for the Hunger Games.

A number of emotions welled up inside him. Shock, fear, but most of all, anger. _No. NO! I worked hard to get to where I am today! I had a future, a goal…! They can't take this away from me! _His mind was screaming. He clutched at his head, trying to hold it in.

Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do when the Peacekeepers came to take him away. Not long after, the smell of burning bacon permeated the air.

* * *

"And our final tribute for the final Hunger Games is…Apollo Brandt," Thimblelina said grimly. "That is all. Tune in tonight, when the chariot rides will air and we will see our tributes for the first time."

Apollo was instantly on his feet, his face beet-red with fury. "This is an _outrage_!" He shouted at the TV. "I am appalled. I am _flabbergasted_. I am—"

Moses cut in before his cousin could start paging through the entire English dictionary. "This is coming from the guy who always said the Hunger Games were for the greater good?"

Apollo stopped where he was, caught in his own hypocrisy. He took a moment to compose himself before responding, "Yes. That's true. I have always thought that the Hunger Games were a necessary evil—and they still are."

"Yeah?"

Apollo glared at his cousin. "_Yes_." Then he turned his attention to his collection, silently mourning it. _What if it was all for nothing? What if Moses tries to sell all of my belongings while I'm gone? …Wait a second._

Apollo began to turn in slow circles, taking in every inch of his collection. "There is no tribute that knows more about the Hunger Games than I do. I…know everything. I can name every victor. I've studied so many weapons. So many…survival tactics." His breathing began to get heavier as he counted off his many talents on his fingers.

Moses frowned. "You're freaking me out, Apollo."

Apollo thrust his fist into the air. "I know everything about the Hunger Games! There is NO doubt in my mind that I will pull through this and become the next victor!" he shouted, his voice filling up the cramped room. "I will become the final victor of the final Hunger Games—or I will die trying!"

**Woooo! See you on my birthday in three weeks for the next update-The Chariot Rides!**


	9. The Chariot Ride

**Let it be known that I went back and added a character plot point to the Reaping. It's in Junisse's section. I'm so sorry I forgot, things get scrambled when there are 24 characters to think of. ;o; I haven't been doing as good of a job as I normally do. Maybe I'm getting too old for this.**

**Also I am back in school. I MISS FINNICK (my cat for those who don't know). I'll be busy with schoolwork, band, and bringing back my social life, but I'm gonna try and make time for writing too, don't you worry. And sleeping. I've already had my bandmates get offended because I would rather sleep than socialize with them after being with them for nine hours anyways. Haha, losers.**

**On the subject of the story, I feel as though my writing hasn't been up to par lately since I was putting word limitations on myself and trying to cram in a ton of information. I still am kinda doing that. :/ I promise I'll try and work harder to bring it back to its usual quality. I assure you, the Games and Post-Games are really something. Hopefully they'll make up for what the Pre-Games have been lacking. **

**I also apologize in advance if someone's chariot outfit is not to their liking. I did change some things around to suit the theme my sister chose. Sadly, I am awful at coming up with outfit ideas so hopefully they are not too atrocious.**

**Finally, here are the results for the most eligible bachelor poll! Congratulations, Casca! He won by a mile! Not gonna lie, I voted for this smooth man. After reading, make sure to check out the latest poll: Who do you THINK will win?**

**1st Casca with 10 votes**

**2nd Duke with 6 votes**

**3rd Zion with 5 votes**

**4th Ryiero with 4 votes**

**5th Apollo, Antony, and Screw you! with 3 votes**

**6th Perrin, Lance, and Mobius with 2 votes**

**7th Chip with 1 vote**

**8th Locce and Percy with 0 votes**

**Enjoy the chapter! I'm off to go open presents, eat cake, and date pigeons! ...Actually I'm off to go to class. But maybe I'll do that other stuff later.**

After the Reaping, each tribute was put into a car and escorted to an indoor arena that would contain the chariot rides later that evening. It had hundreds of empty seats just waiting to be filled by former district citizens and Capitolites alike. The tributes were jumping right into the Pre-Games festivities with barely any time to process what was happening. One by one, they were unloaded and brought inside a small auditorium connected to the arena.

Horatia found herself sitting next to a petite girl that kept giving her the stink eye. On her other side was a boy dressed all in black, with dark circles under his eyes. He seriously needed a makeover. "What is taking so long?" she grouched, feeling cramped.

Something brushed her hair. Horatia turned in her seat, and as she did, the smell of lavender hit her nose. She came face to face with a lanky, lilac-haired boy. Even when she squinted her eyes at him, he did not stop stroking her head.

"Oh my God, I love your hair," he sighed. Then he sank back into his seat behind Horatia, continuing to look at her purple locks wistfully.

"What's your name?" Horatia asked curiously.

"Antony."

Horatia expected him to go on, hoping he'd continue elaborating on how perfect her appearance was, but he didn't. Everyone's focus had suddenly honed in on the small stage at the front of the room. It was barely a foot off the ground, but it was a warm chestnut brown color. Red, satin curtains hung behind it.

A man with neatly groomed, reddish brown hair and a red tie walked onto the stage briskly. His beady blue eyes darted around the room, counting each tribute present. The tributes in the front row heard him mutter, "Only twenty-three…the girl from District 2 is running late. Curse it all. We'll never be able to keep to the schedule at this rate!"

The man clapped his hands for silence. Not that he needed to—very few of the tributes were willing to converse with one another. Viatrix, Tully, and Reyn were having a little chat, and Gliss was trying to spark a conversation with Chip, but he just brushed her off. They all quieted instantly when the man called for their attention.

He proceeded to point to a wristwatch on his hand and said in a serious tone, "One of us is running late, but we must get started. We're already five minutes behind the schedule and there is much to do!"

"Who the hey are you?" Perrin called from the middle row. His legs were carelessly kicked up on the seat in front of him. His feet poked an uncomfortable Zion in the back of the neck.

The man adjusted his tie and declared, "My name is Jack Newman. I am the head coordinator for these Games—and also Assistant Head Gamemaker. You will be seeing a great deal of me for these next few days."

"Couldn't have given us someone with a prettier face, could they?" Perrin scoffed. His snarky comment was met with a few stray chuckles. He grinned like someone had handed him a trophy.

Jack Newman gave an odd twitch, unsure as how to respond to his heckler. He adjusted his tie once more, though it didn't need adjusting. "Um…no. Anyways, I have a special announcement regarding the chariot rides. How many of you have heard of the fashion reality series _Project Panem_?"

Horatia and Antony gasped, "No way!" in unison. "Are we going to be on TV?!" Tully shouted, throwing her arms up joyously. A second later, her enthusiasm wavered. "Um, never mind. That was a stupid question."

"Yeah it was," Percy sneered quietly from the back row.

"If you'd just let me finish!" Jack Newman said, checking his watch for the umpteenth time. "Yes, our televised event is going to be combined with this week's episode of _Project Panem. _Twelve stylists from the show will be joining us. Their challenge for this week was to select two masks from a collection and design outfits off them. Each of you has been matched to a mask. There will be two tributes per stylist, and they will share the same chariot."

A few of the tributes struggled to keep from squealing. Others rolled their eyes. Reyn just looked confused, having spent the majority of her life running around outside, rather than being inside watching TV. _What's Project Panem?_

"As for this week's special guest…"

The red curtains parted. There stood a redheaded Asian man with narrowed eyes and a classy purple suit. The fashionista tributes gasped and immediately began applauding. Cicely and a few other polite tributes respectfully followed suit, though they had no idea who this man was.

A small grin curled up the guest's lips, as he waited for everyone to stop. When all had quieted, Jack Newman introduced him.

"Thank you for welcoming Hapi M. Saltzman! This week's _Project Panem _guest and our head stylist for the final Hunger Games. Since a young age, Hapi has been selling his own line of stylish masks in the Capitol, bringing them back as a fashionable fad. His daughter, Faye Saltzman, is actually a contestant on the show, but there is no favoritism here. Contestants are judged on raw talent and creativity alone!"

_This was obviously rehearsed, _Daphne thought, taking note of the robotic quality the Gamemaker's voice had taken on. She imagined him standing in front of a mirror, repeating those lines over and over again, and had to suppress a snort.

"I'm honored to be joining you today," Hapi said in a quiet voice. Tributes had to lean forward in their seats to hear him properly. "I will merely be judging your costumes, but still, I hope they will be to your liking." A toothy grin stretched across his pale features. "With the way things are going now, you don't deserve to suffer through any more disappointment. Do you?"

"All right! That's all we have time for," Jack Newman said, attempting to shoo Hapi off the stage. The head stylist remained where he was, continuing to smile creepily at the twenty-three tributes. "Let's get going. It's time to get ready for the chariot rides!"

* * *

A few hours later, everyone was getting into position. Crowds were filling up the arena. The tributes were hidden in a spacious backstage area, standing beside their chariots and horses while their stylists made last minute adjustments. Everyone was running around like mad, trying to prepare. Meanwhile, the head stylist prepared to come down the line for a final judgment on the costumes.

Reyn found herself at the front of the line. Without the districts, she had no idea how the order was chosen. Maybe it was random, or maybe it had something to do with the stylists. Her bet was on random. Along with that, she was still wondering how they had come up with her outfit. Not that she was complaining—it was pretty darn cool.

Or maybe hot would be a better word to describe it. She wore a mask that looked like it was made of fire; real fire actually burned along the top of it, though her stylist had assured her it was fake. She also had on a red dress that was a little risqué for her age, but she had a red cape to help cover herself up. To top it all off, a pair of devil horns had been placed on her head.

Reyn obviously represented fire; her chariot partner, Locce, was just the opposite. His mask looked like real water, frozen in time. It ran down his face like tears and gathered in a liquid spiral at the top. Though his outfit was mostly black, Locce also had a long cape that was blue on the inside and pooled at his feet.

'I'm going to bring back capes!' their stylist had joked, while dressing them. During this time they had found out their stylist was from the Capitol. It would seem _Project Panem _had a mix of people from all over the country.

"Not bad."

Reyn jumped. Head stylist Hapi was standing right behind her. "Whoa, are you a ninja? How'd you do that?" she grinned.

He didn't respond and began inspecting them, making a few comments to the stylist here and there.

Reyn looked around, bored, her eyes coming to settle on a nearby horse. With a grin, she nudged Locce. "Do you think during the chariot rides, I could spring off the chariot and ride the horse out? That would make an impression."

Locce just raised a shoulder. _Your funeral. _The fire would probably scare the horse and result in catastrophe. Reyn seemed to realize it too.

"Nah…I won't do it."

Hapi left the first pair, satisfied that they would make a good first impression. If only they knew how lucky their chariot placement was. People always remembered the first and the last.

Second in line, Percy and Gliss waited for inspection. When Gliss had first seen Percy, she had thought he was kind of cute. Who didn't love a short, fat little kid trussed up in fancy robes of royalty and a bejeweled crown? He looked adorable! Then he had wrinkled his upturned nose and spoke in a grating, childish voice that said he had yet to attain puberty: "You look like crap."

Gliss tried to be a good sport about it. "No kidding, but you don't have to say it like that."

"Too bad I already did," Percy slipped on his mask—a gold visor that connected to his crown, and had a long, beaklike nose.

At that moment, Hapi came walking up. He barely seemed to notice Percy; his piercing gaze was fixed on Gliss. "What is _this_?" he asked, stopping in place with a hand on his forehead.

"Do you like it?" Their stylist asked timidly.

Hapi begin to massage his right temple. "…Remind me again what this week's theme was?"

"Um…base an outfit around a mask?"

"And why didn't you do that here?"

Gliss was wondering the same thing. Her mask was rather simple—it was covered in gray fur and had hornlike ears poking out of the top. The two pinpoints where the eyes were supposed to be glowed red.

The rest of her outfit didn't match at all. The three of them listened as her stylist tried to make excuses for it. "I didn't like my first idea, so I scrapped it. And when I heard this tribute's last name was Feenix, I decided to go for a different approach. I borrowed this blood orange fabric and leftover feathers from Tribute Palmer's stylist for the bodice. The wings took a while to do…"

Antony, who was eavesdropping in the next chariot over, rolled his eyes at Daphne. "Oh my God. 'Blood orange.' That's so pretentious. It's freaking red."

"…And the wings are going to burn up during the ride," the stylist finished. "K-Kind of like Katniss Everdeen's. I thought the districts would appreciate it."

Hapi looked at the poor stylist for a long moment. "So you're borrowing ideas, not only from the great Cinna, but from your fellow competitors. You had an exciting theme going here. A king and a beast!" He motioned to each of the tributes in turn. "But you chose to forgo it. Tell me, is there one original bone in your body?"

Tears rolled down the stylist's face. She didn't respond and Hapi moved on.

"Heh. He called you a beast," Percy snickered, nudging Gliss's elbow.

She pulled it away and turned to her stylist, saying brightly, "For the record, I really like my hair!" Gliss pointed to the intricate braid, where her black and white hairs intertwined perfectly. Orange feathers had been interspersed in it.

"I'm not a hair stylist," the stylist sulked. "Ohh, I am definitely going home after tonight…"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Gliss said, trying to keep her voice positive. _What I wouldn't give to go home…_

Antony and Daphne were up next. Antony had a fancy mask pieced together by magnets, while Daphne had a full-on headpiece. When she had first seen it, it looked extremely heavy and she was certain she wouldn't be able to lift it. But it had been as light as a feather to pick up, and now it was resting delicately on her head. As for her dress, it was extremely colorful and made of old magazines. Obviously, this stylist had been informed on her family's ownership of _Verity. _

Hapi proceeded to criticize the sloppy job done on Antony's suit, picking out loose stitches and acknowledging that it was a poor fit. "I'm sorry!" The stylist said, looking extremely harassed. "It's just—the tribute refused to wear anything but purple! I had to completely redo everything at the last minute."

Daphne shot Antony an accusing look. Antony just shrugged his shoulders as if to ask, 'well, what do you want me to do about it?'

"Last I checked, the tributes weren't in charge," Hapi said icily.

"Here, this'll cheer you up," Antony said, cutting into the conversation with a wave of his hand. "I heard a great joke the other day—did you hear about the guy who lost his left side?"

No one responded. Everyone looked less than amused. Hapi turned and walked on down the line without another word.

"He's all RIGHT now!" Antony called after him. Hapi did not look back and no one laughed. "Okay, it's not as funny if it's out of context. Maybe someone will get their left side bitten off in the arena, and I can use it then."

"You're kidding me," Daphne said, shaking her head.

Antony didn't respond, craning his neck to get a peek at the next set of tributes. Hapi was berating the next stylist, his voice raised in anger. "Oh boy—fashion emergency at four o'clock! Should I go over there?"

He began to make a move towards the chariot behind him, but Daphne grabbed his arm and pulled on it. "No!" she said, trying to remain serious. "Stay here like we're supposed to! You're not part of the show, are you?!"

"Honestly! Does subtlety mean NOTHING to you?!" Hapi said, looking ready to pull his hair out.

"I thought everyone would appreciate it!" The stylist wailed, cowering.

The costume in question belonged to Apollo. His mask was beautiful, with a glimmering sun on one side and a moon on the other. The stylist had decided to dress him up as Apollo the Sun God—literally. White robes had been wrapped around his lower torso, while a gold plate covered his chest and collarbone. His midriff was exposed, but there wasn't much to show off in that area.

Keeping to the sky theme, the stylist had chosen a dark mask studded with stars, which was matched with Chip. A tiny aurora emanated from the top of the mask. His stylist had added dark accents to his hair to make it stand out more, and had a star/cloud motif going for the rest of his outfit too. It was a little puffy for his liking, but he kept reminding himself he would only have to wear it for another hour or so.

_Even then, it's not so bad. I'd rather wear this for the rest of the week, than listen to one more word out of this guy's mouth, _Chip thought, looking in Apollo's direction.

Apollo had been spewing Hunger Games trivia since he arrived. He had only shut up once Hapi had come along to judge their costumes, respectfully waiting for him to finish his critique.

"It's well-made, at least," Hapi said, looking over the material. "I apologize for snapping. Today has been a bit stressful."

"Oh, I completely understand," the stylist agreed, looking much more relaxed now.

Hapi departed to the next chariot. Apollo watched him go. "Compared to the other tributes, I believe we have a 66.6—repeating of course—percent chance of standing out. Don't you agree?"

"_Sure,_" Chip replied through gritted teeth. But his sarcasm didn't quite reach Apollo, and so he continued blathering on about whatever came to mind.

The next chariot contained Eugenia and Mobius, who had an eye theme going on. Eugenia's mask was more like a hood. It was one big eye that covered her entire head. The pupil was the size of her fist and red veins literally bulged on the outskirts. Mobius's mask was made up of dozens of tiny eyes, crowded around his own eyes. 'Creepy' was the word that came to mind when looking at them.

Their stylist had attempted to make their attire a bit tamer, so they weren't total freak shows. Eugenia wore a peach-colored dress studded with sapphires that matched the iris on her ostentatious mask. A short cloak was clasped around her shoulders and her hair was done up in a crown bun.

Mobius wore a simple tailcoat, but his wheelchair had been given a complete makeover. It was made out of a mishmash of spare parts, with some dazzling gemstones thrown into the mix.

Speaking of the wheelchair, Eugenia couldn't stop looking at it, wondering how on earth this sickly-looking boy was going to function in the Games. Mobius noticed her staring—how could he not?

"You're staring," Mobius said bluntly.

"No I'm not!" Eugenia snapped, instantly looking away.

"Your head is a giant eyeball. Lying won't—"

"Not bad. Perhaps it would have been in your favor to spend more time on the tribute than the wheelchair though, hm?"

Both tributes shut their mouths when they realized it was their turn to be critiqued. Hapi wove around them, observing the costumes from every angle. As he conducted his business, movement in the shadows caught Mobius's eye.

Not far off, a man was watching him from the shadow of a pillar. His white lab coat stood out clearly in the dark area, as did the glint in his glasses. He seemed to be writing something on a clipboard. Mobius only caught a quick glimpse. Then the mysterious stranger ducked behind the pillar and disappeared from view. A shiver ran up his spine.

Next in line was Perrin and Elara.

"I…got to pick my masks second to last," their stylist had mumbled, red-faced with shame.

Perrin's mask was very techno-looking, blue on the right and red on the left not unlike 3D glasses. Its reflective qualities caused it to shine with the many lights around him. Aside from that, his body was covered in film reel. While Perrin took care of his body and had nothing to be ashamed of, he was wild with jealousy of the other tributes.

_Everyone else looks great—and my stylist decided to wrap me in cheap film reel! _He thought furiously, tempted to rip his outfit to shreds. "This is awful…"

Elara turned her face towards him. Her expression was unreadable by her unnerving mask. It shared the same colors as Perrin's, but half the mask had a grinning face, which transformed to a drooping frown on the other half.

"How old are you?" Elara asked randomly.

Perrin arched one thin eyebrow. "Uh, fifteen."

"Mm…you're cute," Elara mused. She emitted a throaty laugh that was slightly muffled by her mask.

Perrin automatically grinned, unable to resist praise. A second later, it turned back to a frown. "Hold up. Aren't you, like, three years older than me?"

Elara didn't respond. She had either departed the conversation or was leering at him from behind her mask. Perrin didn't know whether to be turned on or creeped out. There was no time to investigate because Hapi came along. When he began berating their costumes, Perrin's worries immediately turned back to his awful appearance and how terrible his first impression was going to be.

Hapi forged on. When he saw the next stylist he would be critiquing, he stopped to observe. The stylist was a young Asian girl, no older than twenty, with flaming red hair. She was currently standing in front of the tribute named Zion, making tiny adjustments to his outfit. She couldn't seem to keep her hands off him.

"Faye!" Hapi shouted, storming over to the pair.

Zion automatically tensed his muscles as if preparing for a fight. Judith, his chariot partner, eyed the exchange with interest.

Hapi seemed to realize his dramatic entrance. He coughed and motioned to the costumes. "Tell me what you've done here."

Faye, slightly red-faced, began explaining her concept. Zion was given a mask of green snakes that twisted and writhed around his entire head. Thankfully, they were not real, though they looked it. At the edges of the mask, two tiny white wings curled out. Small white wings were also sprouting out of his back. He was covered in battle armor, scars, and fake blood. Much to his chagrin, they had thrown some red dye into his hair as well.

Instead of snakes, Judith had golden chains wrapped around her eyes and the rest of her body. Clothing covered what needed to be covered, but a great deal of her dark skin showed. Her side mohawks had been styled into horns and fake blood was spattered around her mouth.

"To showcase that her family was in the Avox dealing business," Faye declared. "It makes it look like her tongue was ripped out."

Judith had tried to keep her head high for the majority of the inspection, but now it was bowed in shame. _I'll never leave the past behind me, will I?_

Hapi stared at the two for a long time before deciding, "Switch places with the chariot that is last in line. I think these two will make quite an impact for the finale."

"Dad, I don't want you showing me any favoritism!" Faye hissed through gritted teeth. "All of the other contestants are already giving me a hard time."

Hapi put up his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine! Just…good luck." The head stylist looked as if he wanted to say more, but his daughter shooed him away.

"_Go _already!"

Hapi left obediently. Faye sighed and returned to her position in front of Zion. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she began smoothing his bangs into place. Zion could feel his cheeks growing hot, and he tried not to stare at her face, despite it being so close to his.

Faye sighed. "I guess sometimes it pays to be 'Daddy's Little Girl.' But most of the time it's really annoying!" A light giggle escaped her lips.

Zion lowered his eyes shyly. Judith just tried not to laugh.

Up next was Junisse and Viatrix. Both of their masks were rather simple. Junisse's looked like it was made of fog and released steam around her face, shrouding her head in a small cloud. Viatrix's looked like a rock with two holes and a lopsided mouth punched into it. She wasn't sure why on earth such a thing existed, among this lineup of fabulous masks. Their stylist had promised them they would make more of an impression on the chariot ride.

As for their outfits, Viatrix wore a red, floor-length gown covered in sequins. The body-hugging dress accentuated every inch of her curves. She wore matching red lipstick and her colorful hair had been curled and gathered onto her right shoulder. Junisse's dress was much like hers, but perhaps with twice as many sequins, and green instead of red.

Since she was brought here, Junisse had been trying to maintain her little movie star fantasy, but it wasn't easy. She didn't have the personality for it. Viatrix, who wouldn't have minded socializing with her chariot partner, was practically dead on her feet. The all-nighter she had pulled was catching up with her.

When Junisse saw Hapi approaching, Junisse looked to Viatrix. "Um, excuse me, I think it's our turn," she said quietly.

Viatrix didn't respond. Her mask gazed lifelessly ahead of her. She could hear her breaths whistling against the material, long and heavy. Junisse frowned. _Is she…sleeping? Wow. I wish I could be as relaxed as her._

Viatrix snapped awake when Hapi came to inspect them. He declared their outfits to be ordinary, but not atrocious. When he had finished, Viatrix closed her eyes and resumed dozing. Junisse was just grateful to keep to herself.

"We're next!" Tully said excitedly.

"Oh, awesome!" Brianne said, mocking Tully's enthusiasm. "One step closer to being killed in the Hunger Games. I can't wait!"

Tully brought her hands to her cheeks and gasped dramatically, "Oh, you neither? Great, I thought I was the only one!"

_She's kidding. Unless she's an idiot, _Brianne thought, pretty sure it was the former. Though she didn't have a great deal of respect for her flashy chariot partner, she wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Her crazy-looking get-up wasn't helping her cause. Tully wore a blue, puffy dress with the words 'no signal' written on it in fancy cursive. It matched her exquisite mask perfectly—it was basically a tiny flatscreen TV with an antennae poking out of it. She could see past the screen, but those on the outside looking in would only see the picture displayed on the jumbotron.

Brianne's mask resembled a red pair of lips around her eyes, with rippling streamers that hung off the bottom. The same snakelike streamers hung off her tight green dress. Her stylist told her the mask had the capabilities to play music, but they wouldn't be able to utilize it during the ride. _What a waste._

"These are some of my best masks," Hapi told the stylist. "I had hoped they would be done justice." He seemed most impressed with Tully's dress, and its little slogan. "This could prove to be popular in the Capitol."

_Oh my God. I could be setting the next big trend! _Tully thought, ecstatic. She was about to voice this aloud, but she knew it would only be met with a snide remark from Brianne. _Oh, what the heck. I'll say it anyway. _As soon as Hapi walked away, she threw up her arms and declared, "I could be setting the next big trend!"

"I call it…'Death is a Joke!'" Duke and Ryiero's stylist presented his creations with a flourish.

The theme was reaching, but fitting. Ryiero had a bright, sparkly suit that was covered by a black robe. A skull mask, intricately carved and studded with diamonds, covered the upper half of his face. Duke's was a creepy white clown mask that branched upwards into a joker's hat. Bells were connected at the ends of it, and rang obnoxiously every time he moved. Lastly, he wore a ruffled, white suit that itched around his neck.

"You wouldn't want to run into the two of us in an alley at night!" Ryiero joked.

Duke failed to see the humor of it. Honestly, he was still pissed that his world had been turned upside-down less than twenty-four hours ago. But he remained respectful during Hapi's inspection. It wasn't hard for him to turn on the 'chivalrous young man' façade, considering he was so used to trying to please customers.

"It's…a joke," Hapi said, feeling the material on Duke's suit, and he was pretty sure he didn't mean that as a compliment. "This doesn't look very comfortable to wear."

"It's not," Duke whispered without moving his lips, just loud enough for Hapi to hear.

Hapi's eyes narrowed to slits. "I see. Comfort is very important, you know. Unfortunately we're running low on time…you'll just have to grin and bear it." He pointed to his face and demonstrated with a wide, toothy grin.

"I will. Thank you, sir," Duke said, forcing an appreciative smile of his own.

Hapi and the stylist left them to climb into their chariot. Both boys stood tall in their places, though Ryiero was about an inch shorter than Duke. Ryiero was fidgeting, looking as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he began humming softly.

"…Is there something you want?" Duke asked, turning to him.

"Oh! I was just wondering if it's too early to ask for an alliance. What do you think?"

Duke analyzed Ryiero for a second, wondering if he would hold him back. It was too early to tell, but to Duke, he seemed to be lacking a certain fire. Instead of a hardened work ethic, he only saw the carefree desire to go with the flow. "I don't know," Duke answered simply. "Ask someone else and get back to me on that."

Ryiero fell quiet for a moment, wondering whether or not to be offended at Duke turning him down. But then he decided to not let it bother him. "Okay. I will!"

_Where is Casca? _Cicely wondered frantically, realizing their turn for inspection was next. He had been here ten minutes ago. That was when she had kindly introduced herself to the handsome young man. He had seemed nice enough, but then he had disappeared without a trace.

Thankfully, he came walking briskly back, right before Hapi reached them. His face was nearly expressionless, except for his eyes, which shone with discovery.

"Where were you?" Cicely asked, trying to hide her anxiety. "You should be more careful. We don't want to do anything to upset the Gamemakers."

"I was checking out the competition," Casca said, ignoring Cicely's advice. "There's a paraplegic boy."

Cicely searched Casca for some kind of reaction, but he stared right back at her, waiting for one of her own. "Oh, no…how unfortunate,"

"It is, isn't it?" Casca said, frowning deeply. But his eyes still seemed to contain that unabashed intrigue.

Before they could converse further, Hapi came to inspect their costumes. In his eyes, it was another success. Their stylist had gone for the 'light and dark' theme, and it was working. Cicely's mask was shaped like wings that curled delicately out to the side, and brimmed with white light. She wore a somewhat baggy white dress that flowed past her bare feet, and had on a silvery tiara that matched her hair.

Cicely being light, that meant Casca was dark. His mask was dark silver and boasted jagged edges at the bottom, resembling fangs. Bloody splotches had been placed around the eyes and dripped downwards, giving him an intimidating aura. Aside from that, he wore a deep reddish-purple velvet jacket over a black shirt and pants.

"I think these two will certainly make an impression," Hapi mused, lightly tapping his chin. "If not here, than perhaps in the Games. Don't you agree?"

Casca wasn't fond of the head stylist's casual approach to their fates. His stomach squirmed every time he remembered what was coming. After a deep breath, he agreed. "One could only hope."

Last in line were Lance and Horatia, the two tributes who had been saddled with bottom-of-the-stack masks. Both were still works of art, but there was no theme to bridge the two. Lance's mask was made of golden feathers, orange at the tips, that flared out in every direction. He was draped in matching colors, with more feathers at his shoulders, and a long tailcoat. The artificial light of the room made the oily feathers on his costume shimmer.

Horatia was disgusted with her mask. It was basically two faces melting out of one, a rather gruesome sight. But she was even more upset with the rest of her outfit, a set of purple Gamemakers' robes. _Do they know? _Her mind kept screaming. _Of course they know. They probably know everything about me…!_

Lance watched Horatia with interest, noting each emotion that flickered across her surgically-perfected features. He wondered what kind of internal battle she was waging, at the moment. She would need to work to bottle up those emotions, if she wanted to get anywhere in the Games.

Hapi just face-palmed when he saw the duo. "Switch chariots with the two tributes in front of you."

"Oh my God!" Horatia gasped. "You're finally here! I've been looking forward to this moment all day. I'm such a big fan—in fact, my dream was to be head stylist when I was young. Can I have your—"

"Hurry! There's no time!" Hapi snapped.

Lance and Horatia did as he said, Horatia with a heavy heart. As they passed the pair in front of them, Horatia could see the girl observing her with interest. _Is there something wrong with my hair? _Horatia thought. She tried to meet the girls' eyes with a fierce glare, expecting her to look away. But the girls' expression merely softened and then turned friendly.

There was no time to ponder this strange event, or exchange words, because a voice on a loudspeaker commanded that everyone take their places. One by one, the tributes climbed into their chariots. Stylists rushed off, bidding their models good luck. Up ahead, a hatch door began to lift and light from the arena flooded in, along with the voices of thousands.

In the past, the audience had consisted of countless screaming Capitolites. Now, it was a mix of the former districts and Capitol citizens. The crowd was quieter than it had been in the past. The hysterical mania that had spread among citizens like a contagious disease was missing. Most people applauded respectfully. Only the diehard Hunger Games fans had the audacity to scream their jubilee, uncaring that another round of children were being sent to their deaths.

The first chariot, containing Locce and Reyn, pulled out. As advised, the two removed their masks in synchronization. The fire on Reyn's went out in a puff of smoke. There was an audible 'ooh' that came from onlookers, and Reyn couldn't help but smile a bit. She proudly raised a hand and waved at a few solemn faces.

Locce just stared straight ahead, as if none of this existed. His eyes were the same dull gray as always, and his hair hung in his face, shielding it from view. At least his watery cape, billowing out behind him, made for a dramatic effect.

The second horse came trotting out with a toss of its mane, dragging Gliss and Percy behind it. Gliss's phoenix wings had been set ablaze. As instructed, she removed her clashing mask and let it fall away, out of sight. Then she began to flap her arms, as instructed. The wings on her back were attached to her wrists; the movement made them flap up and down. She looked about ready to take off from the chariot and soar into the night sky.

'King P,' meanwhile, had decided to ignore all of his instructions. He stood there with his legs spread and his hands on his hips, his mask hiding his face from view. _I'm the king. I don't have to do what anyone says!_

Daphne struggled to pry her ginormous headpiece off when it was her turn. Antony's mask, which came off piece by piece, was a little easier to manage. He revealed his eyes last, grinning at his success.

Then the chariot hit a small bump, and he clumsily dropped his disassembled mask. The pieces flew in every direction, one hitting Daphne in the face.

"What-?!" she began to say, but then she reminded herself to take it easy. She forced a smile, showing off all her sharp teeth. Though, without her glasses, the stadium was merely a colorful blur. She couldn't pick out a single person's face to see what they were feeling.

As soon as their chariot cleared the backstage area, Apollo whipped off his mask and held it high above his head, like it was the Victor's crown. Chip fumbled to turn off the aurora and remove his. Then he held it over his head, just like Apollo was doing.

"Have some originality, why don't you?" Apollo sneered under his breath.

"I just—thought we should be in synch," Chip stammered, making up an excuse.

"Well, I see why you wish to imitate me—I am the mightiest man here," Apollo's smirk was big enough to build a house on.

_Did he really just say that? _Chip thought, stunned.

The audience seemed to lose some of their momentum when Mobius and Eugenia appeared with their creepy eyes leering out at them. Eugenia eagerly tore hers off; only too find that her sweaty hair had become matted to her head. She couldn't stop the grumpy expression that spread across her features.

But Mobius had a feeling everyone was looking at him, muttering about his disability. His parents had struggled to hide him away, keep him a secret, and only bring him out for the occasional pity party. And now here he was, on display for everyone to see. He wasn't sure how to feel about it.

Perrin was the one to get the crowd going again, instigating that old feeling of excitement that the Hunger Games was all about. He threw up his arms, shouting to the masses, "Come on! Let's here it for ME!" His shouting was met with a few cheers. He soaked them up with a grin and went back for more.

Elara just zoned out and watched him go, completely forgetting about herself for a moment. Then she remembered she had a job to do. "Oh!" She yanked off her mask and proceeded to drop it. It bounced off the floor of the chariot and right into the crowd with a 'clunk.' Everyone began scrambling for it an instant later, well aware of how much it could sell for. "My poor masks…" Hapi muttered from somewhere backstage, nursing a migraine.

There was an audible gasp when Zion and Judith's carriage rolled out. Judith reached up and crushed the chains in front of her eyes with her fist. A rather impressive feat, but no one had to know that the chains were meant to be broken.

Zion lifted his hand to his right temple. His laurel of snakes slithered off his head and twined around his arm, then fell still. He once again wondered if they were real, and maybe his stylist just lied to him to keep him calm.

Either way, both tributes looked fierce. If Careers existed in these Hunger Games, this was the closest they would get. And everyone knew it.

Viatrix woke up when it was time for them to go. Toppling out of her chariot would not make for a good first impression. She giggled at the thought. _Okay, I need some sleep soon or I'm going to lose it. More than I already have. _This thought merely caused her giggles to double, though it wasn't that funny a thought.

Junisse was fearful her chariot partner had gone crazy. For the first few seconds, she tried to maintain her celebrity persona by waving elegantly to the crowd below. Still, her smile wavered as her chin trembled uncontrollably. Then she remembered—"Oh! Our masks!"

She and Viatrix reached up and pushed a hidden button on each of their masks. Viatrix's instantly turned invisible. Junisse's gathered in a swirl of fog, and then drifted away. The mask was still on her face, invisible as well, but it had given the impression that it had dissipated into nothingness.

This little feat was met by excitement from the crowd. It gave Junisse the courage to reclaim her smile and resume waving at the crowd.

Tully and Brianne were up next. Tully was like a pop star, waving and striking different poses every other second, desperate to leave a good impression. Brianne decided to turn on her sugary sweet act for the occasion as well. All signs of bitterness had disappeared as she beamed at the crowd. She even threw her arm around Tully when it was time to remove their masks. Tully just went with it.

The two looked like the best of friends as they removed their masks and struck another pose. Cameras flashed in their direction as they held it as long as they could.

Then came Duke and Ryiero's chariot. The audience was still pumped from the girls' previous display, so the two boys were met with positive feedback. Duke turned up the charm and removed his mask with a smile. Then he spared the onlookers a polite wave. Ryiero was…

_Oh God what is he doing._

Ryiero took off his mask and threw off his black robe as instructed. But then he decided to go all the way, and remove the rest of his top layers. Once he had taken off his shirt, he whirled around to reveal an intricate tiger tattoo that covered his entire back. The tiger's fangs were bared, its claws unsheathed for tearing.

Duke realized with a sinking heart that he had been outdone. Now, people would only remember the boy with the tiger tattoo—he would just have to try harder to shine in the interview. _Wait a second, what's that?_ There was a smaller tattoo under the tiger. It read... _Infinity...soup?_

_Okay, here we go. _Before Lance pulled off his mask, he tried to work his face into an adorable, wondering expression that it never contained. _Never._ But if he was going to play people's sympathies, he was going to have to do it.

Horatia, meanwhile, thrust out her chest and began doing the princess wave. She even had the courage to wink at a few attractive guys in the audience. As she did so, part of her wondered…were they from the Capitol or the districts? There was a mix of all kinds of people here. Being plain didn't necessarily mean you were from the districts and being colorful didn't mean you were from the Capitol.

She shoved this observation from her mind and continued trying to please her audience.

Last in line were Cicely and Casca—light and dark. Their classic theme was the perfect way to wrap up the show. Casca removed his mask with a charming grin, while Cicely just smiled angelically.

Their chariot bumped to a stop behind the others. There, they waited patiently for the president's appearance. President Snow would always make a short speech at this point in time and wish the tributes luck. But President Paylor was nowhere to be found.

Instead, the voice on the loudspeaker spoke. "Panem honors your sacrifice, tributes. May the odds be ever in your favor."

As quickly as it had started, it was over. The chariots, full of dejected tributes, returned them to the backstage area. The audience filed out of the stadium, leaving it desolate, except for some garbage that had accumulated.

The tributes were gathered before leaving. Jack Newman, the coordinator, told them they would be heading to their quarters for the night, but he warned them that things would be different this year. The tributes went along with it, having no idea what he meant by that. They were led outside to where a line of modest cars waited.

"What, no limo?" Perrin asked, as he was corralled into one.

Mobius waited for someone to come help him disassemble his wheelchair so it could fit into a car. Only after every tribute was shipped off, did Jack Newman approach him with a grim look.

"Tribute Fraus, I am afraid you will not be returning to the Tribute Quarters tonight."

Those words sounded ominous to the young boy. "Why?" he asked, grasping the armrests of his chair tightly.

"There are urgent matters that need to be dealt with, regarding your…handicap." The Assistant Gamemaker bit his lip, as if he didn't quite know how to address the issue at hand.

Mobius took the pause as an opportunity to speak. "You don't have to say it like that. I know I'm handicapped," he said bluntly.

"Yes, yes, I know," Jack Newman said hastily. "As I was saying, you will be spending the night in a medical facility with one of Panem's most prestigious doctors. And perhaps tomorrow, as well, depending on what you choose."

"What I choose?" Mobius echoed.

At that moment, a pair of footsteps reached Mobius's ears. He swiveled his wheelchair to see a man loping towards them. It was the man in the white lab coat and glasses—the one that had been spying on him from the shadows. As he drew closer, Mobius could make out more of his features. He had a skinny, pale face and long brown hair held back with a purple ribbon. Underneath his coat, he wore a matching purple button-down. With a small smirk, he observed Mobius in the same manner.

"Greetings, Tribute Fraus. My name is Dr. Partridge," he said in a deep voice, offering Mobius his hand. "I have much to discuss with you. Care to join me?"


	10. Night One

**Fun fact! Like Griffin in the 44****th****, Dr. Shawn Partridge is another tribute of mine (submitted elsewhere) that I used as a filler character. I'm happy to say after months of roaming that the two tributes were eventually adopted and written into other people's stories. Griffin is currently getting his drama thang on in Dante Alighieri1308's 77****th**** Hunger Games: The Damned and Shawn is doin' the creep in Noctsire's 35****th**** Annual Hunger Games. Yay shameless advertising!**

**Enjoy this kind of unexpected chapter that feels more like a college AU than a Hunger Games fic. Not everyone gets an equal part in it, but this is the way it goes once we reach the Capitol. ...oh wait, we were already in the Capitol to begin with. Well, you know what I mean.**

**BTW I want to try and update on a certain day of the week so you guys have something to look forward to in your miserable...I mean, totally awesome and active lives! ;) Updates will come every week or every other week, depending on how far ahead I am plus review count, but it'll always be on the same day. I was thinking of going with Thursday, but if there's a better day for you guys, just say so in a review!**

After being taken to the medical facility, Mobius was kept in a deserted waiting room for the longest time. The walls were stark white and there was nothing to read except old magazines. _Well, this certainly feels a little more like home, _Mobius thought sullenly, sorting through the stack of magazines. They all seemed to contain the same drab material—how to be skinnier, how to be better in bed, how to be a better person in general…

He found a rather interesting one at the bottom of the stack titled _Verity. _The cover was practically falling off. The date betrayed that it had been published around the time of the 74th Hunger Games. Mobius began to flip through it, intrigued at the amount of Capitol propaganda. _You don't see stuff like this around anymore!_

He stopped on the page titled, 'Letters to the Editor.'

_Mr. Beaumont, _one read, _What do you think about the addition of the District 10 boy into the 74__th__ Hunger Games? I've encountered a fair bit of controversy at work, on whether or not cripples should be allowed into the Hunger Games._

_Dear Concerned for Cripples…_

Mobius had to withhold a snort. How appropriate this was. Mr Beaumont went on to talk about how fate had designed them that way and they should not be excused from the Games. He even went so far as to say that if they _did _start excusing the handicapped, the districts would start purposely crippling their children and there would be less able people for the workforce.

Halfway into the article, and Mobius couldn't read anymore. It made him sick to think about. Luckily, the wait was over. The door to the doctor's office popped open and there was Dr. Partridge, peering at him through the crack.

"Come in," he said in a low voice.

Mobius did as he asked, but he took _Verity _with him. Once inside the office, he held it up for Dr. Partridge to see and asked boldly, "Why do you have this? Were you against the rebellion? If so, why are you helping them now?"

Dr. Partridge's eyebrows shot straight up at the barrage of questions being sent his way. "Oh my. No, not at all. I am actually from the districts, you see, but my loyalties do not lie with any side in particular. I merely follow my own interests. And today, my interest lies in you. Please take a seat."

Mobius shifted uncomfortably. He scootched his body off his wheelchair and into a plush armchair across from the doctor.

Dr. Partridge leaned forward, resting his chin on folded hands. "…So tell me. Just how do you expect to make it out of these Hunger Games alive, hmm?"

It would have been a lie to say Mobius hadn't been thinking about it, constantly. "Um…that depends. Can I bring my wheelchair?"

"You cannot."

Mobius's heart sunk. "Crutches?"

"Perhaps."

Mobius felt a flicker of annoyance. _Can't he give me a straight answer? _"Well, I'm not going to drag myself across the arena and I'm…not the best at making friends. And I know surgery won't help me. My mom took me to some doctors when I was little, but they couldn't do anything. So I'll be using crutches, I guess."

Dr. Partridge's eyes gleamed. A smile crinkled up the corners of his lips. "Ah, but you have not met a doctor such as myself. What would you say if I told you we could give you artificial legs? You'd be walking by the end of the day, tomorrow."

Mobius's breath caught in his throat. For a long moment, he stared at the doctor, shocked. Dr. Partridge just smiled, clearly enjoying his reaction.

"Of course, you'd miss the first day of training for the operation. And we would have to cut your legs off. But—"

"Whoa, what? Cut…my legs off?" Mobius gasped, his hands instantly clasping his knees as if he expected the doctor to take a cleaver to them, right there and then.

"Hohoho!" Dr. Partridge laughed. "Of course! Where else would the prosthetics go? Your legs are useless. They must be replaced."

Mobius began to tremble. Yes, he knew his legs were useless. _But cut them off? _They'd been with him his entire life. They were apart of him. Useless as they were, he couldn't imagine being without them.

Dr. Partridge's amusement vanished and he grew serious. "You know, you really have no choice in the matter."

"You're…going to force me?" Mobius asked, his throat going dry. He had never wanted to get up and run more than he did right now.

"No, no, not at all," Dr. Partridge said, adjusting his glasses. They flashed in the light, hiding his eyes from view. "What I mean is, it's not a difficult choice. If you wish to die, by all means, keep your legs. But if you wish to have a chance at life…the faintest sliver of a chance…then it would be wise to accept my offer."

Mobius bowed his head, gazing at his stick-thin legs. Two useless logs that had never done anything for him…except estrange him from his family. And lead them to leave him behind while they went off to explore the Capitol, only bringing him out for the occasional sorry remark from guests. Days and days of solitude, all thanks to these legs.

Yes, they were apart of him. But that didn't mean they were good.

"Do it," Mobius decided, his voice full of resolve. "Cut them off."

* * *

Back in the day, tributes from the districts were treated like celebrities. They were lavished with all the fine foods and comforts the Capitol had to offer. They were dressed in expensive clothing and put in the most luxurious hotel of all. Tributes roomed with their district partners on separate floors, but each still had their own rooms.

But not this time around. The building that used to house the tributes sustained some damage during the rebellion, and then was refurnished into an office building. So the tributes were packed into cars and snuck out to a remote location—a low white building on the outskirts of the Capitol. Instead of reaching to the sky, it reached deep into the ground. The boys and girls were given separate dormitories, complete with six bunk beds. It was a dark, cramped room with no windows to speak of. A bathroom containing three showers was connected to it. They were locked in here with no escorts or mentors—just a few security cameras watching them.

Thankfully, everyone had been given fresh clothes and toothbrushes, among other necessities. A few of the poorer tributes, such as Lance and Judith, didn't mind the accommodations. The same couldn't be said for others.

"This. Is. _Ridiculous,_" Horatia raged. "We're supposed to be treated like superstars! Like the district kids were."

"They're probably trying to save on money," Daphne pointed out reasonably.

Despite her upbringing, Viatrix didn't give a hoot. As soon as she spotted the nearest bed, she made a beeline for it. A second later, she was collapsed on top of the covers, finally embracing a much-needed rest.

Everyone immediately began claiming beds. "I call top bunk!" Reyn said, scrambling up a nearby ladder.

Horatia just folded her arms and watched as all the beds were taken. She had half a mind to find that Jack Newman character and demand she be given her own room. While she was stewing in her bitter feelings, Cicely approached her.

"Hi," she said, offering Horatia that same friendly smile from earlier. "During chariot rides, I couldn't help but notice your Gamemaker robes—"

"_Oh my God. _No. Please change the subject," Horatia said, hand flying to her mouth, brown eyes pleading.

Cicely looked confused. "I'm sorry? I was just curious if…"

"Stop. Just stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop," Horatia said, raising her voice to block out Cicely's. A few of the girls were looking in their direction. Horatia cursed herself inwardly for making a scene.

"Sorry," Cicely murmured, lowering her eyes guiltily. "My mother was a Gamemaker, so…"

"Your mother was a Gamemaker? That's so cool! My uncle was a stylist." Both girls turned to see a girl with tan skin and white hair standing there. She gave a friendly wave. "Hi! I'm Tullia Voss, but you can call me Tully."

Without a word, Horatia turned and walked away, using Tully as an opportunity to escape her conversation with Cicely.

Tully watched her go with wide eyes. "Wow! Rude."

"I'm sure she's a nice person," Cicely said quietly. "It's just been a very long day for all of us. Some deal with stress differently than others."

"That's true," Tully agreed, unconsciously adjusting her wig. She had been doing everything she could to distract herself and keep her mind off the Games. Otherwise, fear would come creeping back and she'd constantly ask herself _why? Why did this have to happen?_

"Oh! I nearly forgot—I'm Cicely," Cicely said, shaking Tully's hand.

Tully beamed. "Cicely! Nice to meet you. You wouldn't happen to have found a bunkmate yet, have you?"

Brianne let out a sigh of relief when she saw Tully had found someone else to bother. The bunk beneath her was claimed by the purple-haired girl Cicely had been harassing. Brianne spent a minute trying to catch her eye. When she finally did, she gave her the nicest smile she could summon.

"Hi. I love your hair. Purple is the best color, am I right?" She dangled her purple nails in front of her face.

Horatia smugly combed a hand through her hair. "That makes two compliments on my hair today. Clearly, I'm doing something right."

_Wow, _Brianne thought, highly amused. _It's so easy to get on the good side of girls like her. A single compliment and you're in. _

After her fall to poverty, Brianne had spent some time being bullied by girls like Horatia. Thankfully, all of the tributes were wearing the same silk pajamas, and you could only judge one's wealth by their number of altercations that had been done. Brianne's nail polish and highlighters may have saved her here. Especially compared to that dark-skinned girl—Junisse. She was as plain as plain could be. No one was even talking to her.

In reality, Junisse had chosen not to talk to anyone. Playing up that celebrity persona had sapped her energy. She wanted nothing more than to sleep and build it back up, in preparation for tomorrow. As she began falling asleep, she tried to fill her mind with pleasant memories. If she could only block out the voices of the other female tributes, she could have imagined she was back home, in her own bed.

A few other tributes, such as Elara and Daphne, also kept to themselves. Elara was zoning out, while Daphne was using the opportunity to observe the other tributes. There seemed to be a lot of shallow, loud personalities in this room. Daphne wanted to find someone with a good head on their shoulders, that wouldn't spend all their time worrying about a chipped nail.

She noticed Eugenia sitting in one corner, rolling her eyes at the conversations around her every ten seconds.

Daphne turned away. It was too soon to tell with these people. Tomorrow, in training, she would take the time to pick out an ally then.

Judith was relaxing in her bed with her arms folded behind her head, when she noticed a girl staring at her from the next bed over. She had peculiar monochrome hair and huge brown eyes. When Judith acknowledged her, she offered up a dimpled smile.

"Um…sorry for staring, but…I think I saw you on the day of the Reaping."

"Oh. Interesting," Judith stated politely, only half-listening. She knew hers was a memorable appearance. People were always coming up to her and saying so—if they were brave enough.

Gliss frowned, aware of when she was being ignored. So she boldly asked, "So why were you at the prison compound?"

That got Judith's attention. She sat up, looking mildly shocked that Gliss had the audacity to pose such a question, especially in front of the other tributes. Not that anyone was paying attention…

"Why were _you _there?" Judith asked, turning the question back on Gliss.

"Me? I was finally put on probation. No more robbing banks for me!" Gliss joked, trying to ease the tension.

Judith didn't laugh. "I think it's pretty obvious why I was there."

Gliss fell quiet. She figured it had something to do with that gold chain tattoo on her right arm. Looking at it, she noticed Judith had a corresponding tattoo on her left arm—only this one was a green vine with sharp thorns that wound up the length of her arm and disappeared under her sleeve.

Judith, irritated, yanked her covers up to conceal the tattoos. Then she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, bringing an end to the short-lived conversation.

"Okay if I turn the lights out?" Reyn asked.

A few murmurs of consent answered her. A few seconds later, the room went dark. Thanks to the lack of windows, Reyn could barely see her hand in front of her as she made her way back to the bunk she shared with Eugenia. As she climbed into bed, she wondered if any of the girls were daring enough to try anything during the night.

_Probably not, _she decided, eyeing the only point of light in the darkness—the red light on a security camera.

* * *

As soon as the male tributes had arrived in their dormitory, everyone paired up and chose their bunks. All except for Apollo, who had been quick to claim his own bunk, since Mobius was missing. When Perrin seemed like he was going to give him trouble for it, Apollo smugly pointed out the presence of the security cameras.

"You'll have to fight me for it," he said, half-hoping Perrin would attack him so he would have an excuse to show off his karate moves.

Perrin wasn't about to risk it. "You know what, who cares? It's not like you have a bigger bed or any stuff to store on it. The gimpy kid will probably be back later anyways. Have fun with it."

"Oh, I'm very well aware I have no use for a second bed. I was merely asserting my dominance among you and the other tributes."

"The hell?!" Perrin said, unable to believe his ears. "This isn't a wolf pack!" He flicked a stray piece of bang back, and then strutted off, trying to pretend Apollo's words didn't bother him.

Apollo decided this was a good time to start showing off all his knowledge in an effort to score some allies. Once more, he began spewing facts and advice about the Hunger Games. Chip slammed his pillow over his face with a groan. Duke, his bunk right next to Apollo's, squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he had something to block his ears with. Only Ryiero seemed interested in what Apollo had to say.

Casca looked to the nearest tribute, who wasn't preoccupied with anything—a muscular Asian boy with reddish-black hair. "Speaking of the paraplegic," Casca murmured. "Where is he?"

Zion just shrugged sleepily.

"Hmm…" Casca made himself comfortable in the small bed and closed his eyes. He wondered if there was any way he could get a leg up on his competition before going into the arena. There were cameras stationed in this room, but surely there had to be a blind spot somewhere. _It would be quite unfortunate if the wheelchair boy's brakes were to fail when he needed them most…_

Meanwhile, Lance and Percy had somehow found themselves stuck together. They hadn't been quick enough to spring for a different bunkmate. Even Locce had beat them to it, when he took the bunk over Chip's without a word.

Now, the two young boys were locked in a face-off. "I said it once and I'll say it again: I'm taking top bunk," Percy growled, jabbing Lance's chest with a finger. "In case you accidentally wet the bed."

Lance couldn't believe his ears. He had to suppress a derisive laugh. "You're joking, right? I'm only a year younger than you. How old do you think I am?" On top of that, Lance was actually an inch or two taller than Percy. He felt like he was looking down on a chubby 5th grader, who was demanding he give him his lunch money.

Percy folded his arms, looking smug. "You act tough now, but you won't be acting so tough tonight when you have a nightmare and piss your pants. Next thing you know, pee-covered Percy."

A few chuckles came their way. Percy's triumphant grin stretched when he noticed most of the older boys were observing the exchange with interest.

Lance just tried to keep from face-palming. "Okay, well better that than being dead. If you sleep in the top bunk, you'll probably break it and wind up crushing me in my sleep. And for the record, you're not supposed to kill anyone until we're in the arena."

Percy's face was instantly red. It reminded Lance of an overripe tomato, about to explode. "What are you implying?!" Percy demanded.

Lance gave a nonchalant shrug. "Not implying anything. Just stating for a fact that you're fat."

"I'M NOT FAT!" Percy shouted.

"Who fed you that? Your mom?"

"Fed!" Antony snickered, holding his hand up for an air high-five. "Good one." Lance returned it, mildly amused.

Percy's lips trembled. His face turned even redder, if that were possible.

"Guess I'm right," Lance said, feeling superior. He gripped the ladder and began climbing his way to his bed. "Enjoy the bottom bunk." As soon as he was settled, Lance realized how tired he was. _Dealing with idiots always drains my energy, _he thought with a yawn.

Percy yielded the top bunk to Lance, and climbed into the bottom one. He could still hear people chuckling. But this time they were laughing at him, not with him. He gritted his teeth in frustration. _You losers are gonna regret it when we get to the arena!_

Chip pressed his pillow a little tighter to his face, aggravated. Being paired up with a 'district' partner would have been loads better than this, even if it had been Gliss. Which it most likely would have, because their destinies were intertwined like a soft cinnamon pretzel. His stomach growled at the thought of food, adding to his irritation. A cinnamon pretzel sounded so good right now.

During the short dinner they had been given, Gliss had tried to approach him and act friendly. Like always. Chip knew she must have been doing this because she wanted something. She was most likely looking to form an alliance, or discuss their knowledge on one of the muttations they would be facing down. She was probably wondering if he researched Praying Mantises before coming here-which he did, before the Reaping.

Anyways, he wanted none of her little tricks. "Go away," he had told her. "I don't want to talk about it."

His harsh tone had its intended affect. But at the dejected look on her face, Chip softened his words.

"I don't want tributes knowing about our association or our knowledge. It might...raise some flags," he had said, coming up with an excuse on the spot. "Make us targets."

Gliss had seemed to buy it. She murmured a hasty goodbye and had taken a seat far away from his. Chip sighed, not quite sure what to do about that girl.

"Lights out!" Apollo said suddenly, turning off the lights before anyone could react.

"Hey, wait! I didn't brush my teeth yet," Ryiero protested.

"Failure to act in such a situation could be the death of you. The Gamemakers will not wait for you to finish brushing your teeth in the arena before turning it to night. You will have to make your way to the bathroom in the dark."

Mumbling under his breath, Ryiero made his way through the dark room. He stubbed his toe on a bunk and let out a yelp that could have waked the dead. Instead, it just annoyed everyone in the room.

_Shut up already, _Locce thought. He had been so close to sleep, but then it had been torn from him. If he wasn't asleep in the next ten minutes due to the idiocy of others, he just might have to smack someone upside the head. He was that tired.

Ryiero whispered an apology. As he continued to make his way towards the bathroom, he reconsidered who he wanted to be in an alliance with. _Not Apollo, _he decided. _He seems smart, but he won't let me brush my teeth with the lights on. That's a deal-breaker. _He would just have to keep looking.

Despite being in strange beds and having the threat of the Games looming over them, the boys drifted off to sleep one by one. It had been an incredibly long day.

They would need their rest, for training started tomorrow. And it was going to be unlike any training the Hunger Games had ever seen.


	11. Training Day 1: The Simulation

**Thursday updates it is! Thanks for your feedback, everyone...only today is Monday. Last Thursday I was too sick to wanna do anything and this Thursday I will be in panic mode cause of a project due the next day. After that, it's Homecoming, so I'm gonna be pretty swamped. So Monday update it is! I promise I'll try and mainly stick to Thursday updates in the future, though.**

**Ahh, training. I've been looking forward to this. At first I couldn't get the hang of it. It was just your usual training stuff, messing around at stations, but then I came up with some fun ideas I hope you'll enjoy. Also, Day 1 had to be split into two chapters. Sorry about that!**

**ANNOUNCEMENT THINGY! If you created a character and have not reviewed yet, I would love to hear from you! You don't even have to leave a crazy long review if you really don't want to, just please drop a quick one-liner so I know you're out there. There are a handful of creators who haven't reviewed even once. I do hope they didn't just give me a character and flee because that wouldn't be fair. So please please please let me know if you're there!**

**OOH ONE LAST FUN ANNOUNCEMENT! I made a tumblr for my Hunger Games stories! There will be all sorts of cool stuff on it. Just look up hoprocker-hunger-games, dot tumblr, dot com. I'm still getting the hang of some stuff, but I hope you enjoy it! :)**

"Oh God, Jarek. I'm so bloody terrified. _So _bloody terrified…"

Outside the training center door, Head Gamemaker Wiley Corr paced back and forth like a caged animal. All of the confidence he'd boasted before the Games had vanished into thin air. For days, he had been stressing how well this entire ordeal would go over—this had taken its toll on his appearance. He was a fair bit skinnier, and his skin was deathly pale. He hadn't basked in the sun for several days. His brown hair and glasses were askew. A thin layer of scruff was growing on his face. There hadn't been time to shave.

As he paced, his young assistant stayed by his side, jogging back and forth to keep up with the Gamemaker's long strides. "Sir, why are you so afraid?" Jarek asked innocently.

"_Isn't it bloody obvious?! _I'm about to walk into a room full of twenty-four—er, twenty-three people who want me dead. And there are all sorts of weapons at their disposal. So they get to exercise their creativity in choosing how to kill me! Not only did I design the arena they're going to die in, I also blew all the funds for accommodations on this training center!" Wiley Corr threw his arms up in despair.

Jarek searched for words of comfort. He was used to giving his boss numerous pep talks to lift his spirits. He needed one now more than ever. "Sir, you know the trainers wouldn't let that happen. Just have one stay close to you for protection. And if they don't want to, I'll be there!"

Wiley Corr paused and looked at Jarek for a long moment. Then he snapped his fingers. "That's it! I'll fake-fire you. That's what my old man did whenever he wanted to exercise his power. I'll pretend to fire you and then those tributes will know that I am not one to be messed with!"

"Hello!"

The Head Gamemaker and Jarek turned to see Assistant Head Gamemaker Jack Newman come jogging up. He looked rather excited for today's events.

"Here I am! And right on time, too."

"You couldn't have come a bit earlier?" Wiley Corr said, irritated. "Ohh…never mind. Let's go in."

Jarek took the lead, pushing open the heavy set of double doors with a prolonged creak. The doors opened up to reveal a large room with a high ceiling. Numerous stations from Hunger Games past presented themselves before everyone's eyes. The entire back wall was lined with weapons—before that was an obstacle course to test tributes' agility. Nearby was a rope ladder that led up into the ceiling for some climbing practice.

Camouflage, insect/plant identification, fire making, fishing, knot-tying, and weightlifting were a few of the stations that had made comebacks. There were a few news one, too, such as tracking and swimming. A deep pool shimmered beneath the lights in a corner of the room.

In the opposite corner of the room, a computer had been set up. Many wires connected the computer to four chairs. The chairs resembled what one would find in a dentist's office. That was their destination.

First things first, they needed to introduce themselves to the tributes. Twenty-three children were currently gathered at the center of the room, sitting down in front of a pair of young trainers. They appeared to be in their early twenties, not much older than the crop of children before them.

One was male and one was female. The beautiful female trainer had long, silky brown hair tied up in a ponytail and perfect porcelain skin. The male trainer was equally attractive, with long black bangs, light blue eyes, and a lean frame. He was currently speaking to the tributes in a smooth voice.

"I am Head Trainer Obsidian Shaw, and this is my assistant Ravish Blackwell," Obsidian introduced his cohort with a small flourish.

Ravish stepped forward, hands folded behind her back. "We are former inhabitants of District 1. When we were your age, we were facing extensive Career training in preparation for the day we would enter the Hunger Games. However, the rebellion was sparked and that opportunity was lost." She didn't bother hiding the bitterness in her voice.

Obsidian, however, looked unconcerned. He smiled and shrugged. "Well, what can you do? I'm sure the best of people can prepare for something their entire lives and have it snatched away from them in the blink of an eye, too."

Awkward silence.

Obsidian cleared his throat, and then motioned around the room. "As you can see, there aren't a great deal of trainers here with us. Unfortunately, there were some budget cuts, so not all of you will receive the attention you need. I'm sure you already noticed you're not exactly living in luxury at the moment. As for the man behind those budget cuts, and the mastermind behind this year's arena…may I introduce Head Gamemaker Wiley Corr!"

Obsidian flung his hands in Head Gamemaker Wiley Corr's direction. Immediately, twenty-three heads turned and twenty-three pairs of eyes locked on him. Wiley Corr flinched under their cold gazes.

"Remember the plan, sir!" Jarek squeaked as quietly as a mouse.

"Err—right!" The Gamemaker rounded on Jarek, face bunching up in rage. He raised his voice to its highest volume and shouted, "That's the last time you speak to me like that, Jarek! I am Panem's one and only Head Gamemaker and I _demand _your respect. YOU'RE FIRED!"

Jarek wasn't the most talented actor. His jaw dropped in an overdramatic fashion and he smacked his hands into his cheeks. "Whaaat?!"

"You heard me. Box your stuff. Out the front door. Parking lot, car, goodbye."

"Wahhhh! You're lucky I'm not a tribute or I would stab you with that axe!" Jarek wailed, running for the door.

"D-don't…give them any ideas…" Wiley Corr murmured, but Jarek had already slammed the door behind him. A resounding _boom _echoed throughout the large room, bouncing off the high ceiling and back.

Ravish placed one hand on her hip and arched an eyebrow. "Sir…your introduction?"

Wiley Corr faced forward, straightening his tie, grinning at the tributes before him. "Ah, yes! Greetings, everyone. I am Head Gamemaker Wiley Corr. It's a pleasure to finally meet you all."

A few pairs of eyes narrowed. More than one face was filling with contempt. "Play nice," one tribute warned, but it was impossible to pick out who.

The Gamemaker tried not to let it affect him. "Ah—yes! The budget cuts Obsidian mentioned. Er, well, what he said is true, but I _assure _you that money has been well spent! Not only will you be able to explore the many training stations we have to offer, but we've also introduced something entirely new this year."

"Don't forget to tell them about the surprise visit from the victors tomorrow," Jack Newman spoke up.

Head Gamemaker Corr gave him a withering look. "Honestly, how is it a surprise if you just go and mention it like that?"

Apollo was instantly on his feet, one arm straight in the air. "There are victors coming? Which victors?!"

"Victor Katniss?!" Tully shrilled.

_Please be Victor Enobaria, please be Victor Enobaria… _Daphne thought, crossing her fingers as she struggled to keep calm. But a big, dumb grin was trying to break across her face.

"Sit DOWN!" Ravish commanded loudly, her tone of authority putting a stop to all side conversations. Apollo immediately dropped back into his sitting position. "That's for tomorrow. Today, we're focusing on the newest station. Tell them about your invention." She nodded at Head Gamemaker Corr.

At the mention of his invention, Wiley Corr's blue eyes lit with excitement. Gesticulating towards the sole computer in the vicinity, he spoke with a new confidence. "I'd like to direct everyone's attention to this corner of the room. If you'll follow me, please…"

The group approached the computer, eyeing the four chairs apprehensively. A few tributes had an idea of what they might be looking at. Others had no idea. "What's this? We getting our teeth cleaned?" Ryiero asked.

"I was hoping you'd ask," Wiley Corr said, smoothing his lab coat. "What we have here…is a simulation of the Hunger Games. The Bloodbath, to be precise. Four can go in at one time." He pointed to the four chairs, then the computer. "I'll remain at the controls and set the stage for you. It'll give you a good idea of what you'll be facing, come the time."

While Head Gamemaker Corr and his assistant began powering up the simulation, the trainers were left with the task of picking the first group to go. "Now…who would like to go first?" Obsidian asked.

Apollo was immediately back on his feet with his hand up high. Other tributes scrambled up, thrusting their hands into the air as well. A number of them hesitated, unsure of what to do. Most of the boys had their hands up. Most of the girls didn't.

Apollo began shoving his way through the crowd so that he was standing right in front of Obsidian. His entire arm was quivering with anticipation, his eyes boring holes into the Head Trainer.

Obsidian looked past him, pretending not to see him. "Let's see…" he smirked. "How about…you, you, you, and you." He pointed to each tribute in turn, all boys.

"WHAT?! Do you not _see me_?!" Apollo blustered.

"Aw man, I wanted to try it," Reyn sighed.

"Calm down," Ravish interceded. "Everyone is going to get a turn. You can go on the next round." She turned to face the rest of the group. "Now, disperse! Check out the other stations and the Gamemakers will call you when they're ready for another batch. If you were picked, stay here."

One by one, the tributes peeled off, casting curious glances at the computer. They fanned out over the training center. Eugenia and Locce made sure to pick deserted stations. Gliss and Tully followed Judith to the weapons rack. Brianne positioned herself at a station where she could view the computer screen from a distance. Antony immediately went to find a foil, so he could show off his fencing skills. Duke decided to start with fire making—you couldn't cook without one.

Eventually, everyone settled into their stations, leaving Zion, Perrin, Casca, and Chip by the computer. They eyed one another uncertainly, waiting in silence as Wiley Corr finished preparations.

"So…what should we do when we're in there?" Chip asked, breaking the silence.

"Head Gamemaker Corr will guide you," Jack Newman answered simply, standing at attention.

"All right," Wiley Corr mumbled, from his place in front of the computer. "I think we're ready."

"Tributes, if you please." Jack Newman showed each of the tributes to a chair. Once they were seated, the chairs folded backwards, so that they were nearly lying flat on their backs. Above them, four large headpieces, swarmed with wires and electrodes, hung there.

Perrin swallowed nervously, very aware that his palms were sweating. "Are those things going over our heads?"

"I'm sure they're just decorations," Casca answered sarcastically, unable to tear his gaze from his own strange headset. He tried to appear calm, but his heart felt like it was trying to escape his chest. He was suddenly wishing he hadn't volunteered to go first.

"Haha, very funny," Zion said dryly, from Casca's right. He was just as scared as the rest of them, but he was glad they were going to face it together.

The headpieces began to lower. Chip was ready to bolt, but forced himself to stay calm. One by one, they fixed onto their faces like giant, black masks, and locked into place. Whirring buzzed through their heads as dozens of wires began slipping into place. Perrin let out a yelp as something prodded the inside of his ear, snaking its way through.

"Just close your eyes and relax," Wiley Corr's muffled voice said to them. "It'll be a mite uncomfortable at first, but I promise it'll be over soon."

Zion forced himself to relax, taking long breaths through his nose. He could hear the blue-haired boy—Perrin—whimpering. The one with the gray hair, Chip, let out a soft curse. Zion squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out. Their distress did nothing to calm him.

Everyone in the training center was looking in their direction, waiting to see what would happen. "Okay, we're ready!" Wiley Corr said cheerfully. "I promise I won't let anyone get stuck in the simulation _this _time."

"Wait, WHAT-?!" Casca shouted, his hands flying up to tear the headpiece off his face. Before he could do so, Wiley pressed ENTER on his computer. The watching tributes gasped as Casca's arms fell limply to the sides of the chair and hung there. It was as if all of the life had gone out of him, in that tiny space of a moment.

Casca opened his eyes, then threw up an arm to shield them from the bright light that assaulted him. He was no longer in the training center. In fact, he wasn't even in the Capitol anymore.

He, Zion, Perrin, and Chip were standing on a hilltop, surrounded by mist. The air shimmered with light and a golden horn, the infamous Hunger Games Cornucopia, materialized in front of them. From there, the shimmering light circled outwards, chasing away the gray mist and forming the rest of the arena in front of their eyes. Trees and flowers sprang up from nothingness. Then came tall buildings. Last of all, a shining ocean stretched into the distance.

The air flashed once more. This time, it was to bring the other tributes into existence. Chip couldn't help but gawp at them. They were featureless, shining bodies of light shaped like humans. A second after they appeared, they dropped into a runner's crouch, aiming their bodies towards the Cornucopia.

The four boys looked down to note they were standing on plates of their own, spaced evenly apart. A countdown had begun. It was like they had really entered the Hunger Games.

Zion dropped into his own runner's crouch, preparing himself to run for the Cornucopia. Then, a booming voice nearly made him fall over.

"Just kidding! Hahaha. Wasn't that a funny joke? About getting stuck in the simulation, I mean. Don't worry, you have nothing to worry about…I'm not my father."

Another nervous chuckle.

"…God?" Perrin called up to the disembodied voice.

"No," Casca said, looking inquisitively at the sky. "Head Gamemaker Corr."

"Yes, yes, it's me! Just here to guide you. Give you a bit of advice." The Gamemaker sounded positively thrilled. Even a kid at Christmas couldn't possibly match his happiness. "Looks like we've got a little longer until the gong rings. Might as well give you the tour. This is actually an arena from a past Hunger Games, an old favorite of mine. If you look to your left you'll see an amusement park of some kind. See it? And to your right, something hurtling towards you OH GOD RUN! THAT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THERE!"

Zion whipped to his right, every muscle prepared for a fight. His eyes went wide when he spotted a gelatinous muttation barreling towards him. It looked like a gigantic jellyfish with long, spiderlike tentacles. Before Zion could even consider a plan of action, the muttation exploded into pixels, which faded away within seconds.

"Curses! I thought I had worked out all the kinks in the beta version…" Head Gamemaker Corr's voice grumbled. Then he realized the boys were still waiting on him for instruction. "AH! Just kidding, just kidding. That was deliberate. Just testing you to see how you'd react under pressure. And you passed! Remember, kids: don't jump off the plate for ANY reason or else you will be blown to b—oh. There's the gong. The gong just sounded. Better have at it."

"Are you kidding me?!" Chip grumbled, having completely missed the sound that signaled the start of the Games. The other tributes were already off their plates and running towards the Cornucopia. He hesitated, wondering if he should join them. _I'll never catch up!_

Of the four, Zion was the first to reach the Cornucopia. Inside, he was greeted with a number of weapons. Having never handled anything other than a gun, he hesitated. One of the strange simulated tributes came running in and instantly snatched up an axe, closing that window of opportunity for him. Then it came straight at him, blade raised to strike.

Zion grabbed the nearest weapon—a sword—and blocked the blow. He was surprised at the weight of the sword. And when the simulated tribute struck him, his entire body was forced backwards by its strength. Everything felt so…real.

More tributes began appearing, picking up weapons of their own. Instead of attacking, they raced back outside to fight on the hilltop.

"Impressive, aren't they?" Wiley Corr continued to prattle, even amidst the fight. "I call them tribute ghosts. Not unlike a computer player you might see on a video game. You can even change the levels! Luckily for you, they're set rather low. They have a tendency to attack the player rather than each other. Wouldn't want all twenty of them ganging up on you, now would we?"

Pushing aside his shock, Zion went on the offensive, stabbing at the tribute. The point of his sword entered its shiny surface like a knife through butter. The axe fell from its hand. Zion stabbed it again and the tribute ghost exploded into pixels—just like the jellyfish had. The soldier bent down and picked up the axe, now equipped with two weapons.

Then he looked up to see Casca had gotten hold of a spear and was fighting off a tribute ghost. There was another one, behind him, about smash his head with a mace. Zion didn't know what would happen if it succeeded, and he didn't want to know. "Look out!" he shouted, chucking the axe.

It was a sloppy throw, but it managed to graze the tribute's leg, slowing it down. Casca disposed of the first one, then whirled around to drive his spear into the other one's skull. Both vaporized into nothing.

"Thanks," Casca said with a grin.

"Hey! Over here! HELP!"

Both boys looked to see Perrin fighting off a crowd of ghost tributes. They were surrounding him, but instead of attacking all at once, they seemed to be taking turns at trying to stab him. This made it fairly easy for him to dodge, but he was quickly becoming overwhelmed.

Zion and Casca sprang to his rescue, tackling two tributes from behind. Chip stayed back, watching as the three boys battled it out, completely avoiding the fray. He spotted a discarded bow and picked that up. Then he uncertainly strung an arrow and aimed it at the mass of tributes. The string was harder to pull than expected, and it made his bicep throb. Arms shaking, he couldn't find the strength to aim well.

Not caring who he hit, he released it. The arrow narrowly missed Perrin's head and hit one of his attackers in the stomach instead. Chip wasn't sure if that was enough for an instant kill, but the simulation seemed to think so, as the tribute disintegrated. Perrin and Zion both flashed him quick grins, then returned to the fight.

Then a tribute ghost came running around the Cornucopia with a gigantic hammer in its hands. And it was coming straight for Chip. He nearly dropped his bow as he sprinted away, steering clear of the battling tributes, but passing just near enough in hopes that the hammer-wielding ghost would attack one of them instead.

"Wow, five ghosts left? Let's knock the level up a few pegs…" Wiley Corr's voice echoed around them.

Zion gasped as one drove a sharpened stick directly into his arm. No blood came forth, but the pain that followed felt as real as anything. Luckily, Perrin was there to wildly stab the tribute with his long knife. It would have been a messy kill in real life, but thankfully, this was a simulation.

Together, the tributes fought off the rest of the ghosts with a little more difficulty. At one point, Zion abandoned the sword and decided to use only his fists. Chip, who had managed to shake off his ghost, just watched in awe as he unleashed years of military combat on his opponents. It wasn't as easy to kill the simulations without a weapon, but with help from the others, he managed.

When all had disappeared, the arena melted back into fog. Then, one by one, the four boys opened their eyes to find themselves back in the training center, the headpieces being lifted off their faces.

Wiley Corr and Jack Newman were there to help each of them to their feet. "That was awesome! _I _was awesome," Perrin crowed, a little bit shaky on his feet. He could still feel the adrenaline pulsing through his veins. "Let's do it again."

"Oh, you'll get your chance," Casca said, trying to ignore the fact that next time, the threat would be very real.

Zion wiped at a fair amount of sweat that had accumulated on his forehead, matting down his bangs. His eyes were shining with pride. "We make a great team, don't we? I'm glad you guys decided to watch my back, instead of stab it."

Casca and Perrin laughed. Chip forced a laugh, but he was slowly inching away. He hadn't done much to help out in the fight, and he knew it. He just wanted to get away and go to a simpler station.

Before he could, Perrin flung both arms out, catching him and Casca at the shoulders and pulling them in. "We should be an alliance!" he declared.

"Yeah, we should." Zion agreed.

Casca rested an elbow on Zion's shoulder, a pleased smile gracing his lips as he looked at each of his new allies in turn. "…So it's settled?" His eyes stopped to rest on Chip, and the former scientist couldn't help feel that they contained the slightest hint of accusation. As if he knew that Chip had hovered on the outskirts, barely contributing to their fight.

"Uh…yeah, sure!" Chip said hastily, unable to turn down such an opportunity. After witnessing it, he knew the military man was probably one of the most capable tributes here. Better to be with such a monster than against one.

Perrin grinned devilishly. Then he let go of his newfound friends to turn and face the rest of the training center. "You hear that?!" he shouted from his corner, making his voice as dramatic as possible. "You tributes better start running! The Bro Alliance has just been born—and it's not about to die anytime soon!"

Judith just rolled her eyes, a morning star in her hands. "Please."

"Aww, they're cute," Elara cooed from the edible insects station.

_No…! _Junisse thought, fearful.

_Great. Just great, _Lance hissed inwardly. He had been hoping for all of the alliances to be small and dysfunctional. He already knew his age was going to make him a target among the others.

Perrin chuckled, enjoying the range of reactions he was seeing. Then he turned back to his allies. "Any objections to the name?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"Excellent."


	12. Training Day 1: Forging Ties

******The poll seems to have slowed down, so here are the results for who you think will win! Make sure to vote in the next one: how many tributes you think are gonna cake the bucket in the Bloodbath. **

******1st Zion with 4 votes**

**2nd Gliss with 3 votes**

**3rd Duke with 2 votes**

**4th Ryiero, Chip, Judith, Daphne, and Cicely with 1 vote**

**5th Errybody else with 0 votes**

******As always, a huge thanks to everyone reviewing. There haven't been many, and we lost some people along the way, but I know these are busy times. I'm pretty darn busy too, hence the slow updates and my lack of responses. In fact, I'm going on a trip for the next few days so I won't be around to answer any questions. Enjoy the chapter, and please leave feedback if you have the time! I'd love to come home to a nice pile of reviews in my inbox. :)**

"Just leave this to me! We all know what happens when you combine weapons with PMS."

"Are you kidding me?!" Brianne shrieked shrilly as Apollo wrestled the knife from her hands. "You already have a bunch of weapons!"

It was true. Apollo was currently trying to juggle a nunchuck, a bow, throwing stars, and now a knife. He had taken it upon himself to immediately confiscate them from the girls that had joined him in the simulation. Horatia had been so angry when it happened that she had taken no notice of the tribute ghost sneaking up behind her. After being gored by a spear, she was immediately removed from the simulation. Her image had disappeared in the blink of an eye, as if it had never even been there to begin with.

"N-not saying you ought to be just like the first group, but they worked together during the simulation," Head Gamemaker Corr's voice echoed across the arena. "It's a great team-building exercise, you see. And since the tribute ghosts will only target you, it might be wise to do so."

"I can do this by myself!" Apollo argued, chucking his entire bow at a tribute ghost. He was beginning to become overwhelmed by them. The sheer number of weapons he possessed was triggering something within their computer-like brains, informing them that he was the biggest threat in the area, and he needed to be dealt with.

Viatrix stood back, watching as Apollo was mobbed. His limbs were flailing wildly as he punched and stabbed in every direction. Surprisingly, a few tributes went down. But then the wave of ghosts overcame him, forcing him to the ground. Apollo screamed in pain as their weapons entered his flesh. At the sound of it, a chill ran up Viatrix's spine.

"Don't just stand there! Help me get a weapon!" Brianne shouted, pointing to the pile Apollo had left behind.

It was too late. The mob of simulated tributes was already crashing towards them, like a wave made of golden light. Defenseless, the two girls had no choice but to be swept away by it.

Viatrix gasped as pain exploded in her chest. She looked down to see a sword had been plunged into her heart. There was no blood, but the sight of it was enough to make her shriek. Brianne's own wail of despair entwined with her own. Luckily, it only last a few seconds.

The four of them woke up back in the training center, hearts racing. The group that went in before them had made it seem like an exciting time. But all four of these tributes were trembling, knowing that their time in the real arena would be ten times worse than this.

"If _you _hadn't gotten in my way, I wouldn't have had to go through that!" Horatia said, once her headpiece had been removed.

"Oh, calm down. It's not like we're being scored," Apollo said, looking very unapologetic. His skin was slick with sweat and his breaths came out in ragged pants. He tried to puff out his chest and act like nothing was wrong, but his simulated death was still fresh in his mind.

Wiley Corr just coughed nervously. "Um…next batch, if you will."

"Why don't we have the children go next? So the odds are evened," Jack Newman suggested.

"Excellent idea!"

The other four moved off, after taking a minute to compose themselves. They were very aware that most of the tributes in the vicinity were watching them, looking for any signs of weakness. Horatia headed to the snare station, Viatrix to tracking, and Apollo decided to go practice hand-to-hand combat. Brianne decided to steer clear of Apollo, still angry at what he said to her during the simulation. _I'm sure I could handle a weapon just as good as anyone!_

She found herself walking quickly towards the wall of weapons, her body rigid with rage. Up ahead, she spotted Judith and Gliss conversing. Judith held a club with short, sharpened spikes on the end. Gliss was testing a tomahawk styled axe, feeling its point with the tip of her finger.

_Better not let Apollo see them with weapons or he'll throw a fit, _Brianne thought bitterly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. As she stood there, observing them, she caught part of their conversation.

"—no room for the weak. I would want to model ourselves after the Careers. Have a few strong fighters, someone with a brain for strategy."

"What, you think I'm going to be sitting on my hands singing Kumbaya?" Gliss laughed.

"Not necessarily you. Others."

At this moment, Judith fixed Brianne in her gold-and-red glare. Brianne nearly felt herself freeze up, but then she reminded herself this was no place to show fear. At Judith's acknowledgement, she decided this was the perfect time to come up and intrude on their conversation.

"You're thinking of making an alliance?" Brianne said, walking right up to them. "Can I join?"

"Me too! I mean, me too as in 'can I join your alliance too?' not 'I'm making an alliance too!'"

Brianne groaned, instantly recognizing that peppy voice.

All three girls looked to see Tully standing on the platform behind them, holding a sword. She was currently facing off against Head Trainer Obsidian. "Tribute Voss, I'm still here!" he said, looking irritated. "Discuss your potential alliances once we've finished."

"Oh, sorry!"

He took a swipe at her. She deflected the blow with surprising reflexes. Judith and Gliss exchanged an impressed look. Brianne watched enviously as the battle continued. _It's not fair that all the rich tributes are already good at this stuff._

Obsidian could have destroyed Tully. Instead, he was careful to make things hard on her, but not too hard. "You're better than you look. Here I thought you were just a spoiled Capitolite," The trainer mused, letting Tully try her hand at the offensive side of the sword.

"Thanks, you too!" She said breathlessly, her cheeks flushed red. Beads of sweat were gathering under her wig, which she had insisted on wearing today.

After another minute of this, Obsidian let her take a break. He swaggered off to go check on one of the tributes that had not yet received any attention. Finally, Tully was able to join the conversation about forming alliances.

"It was my idea. To take on… 'The Bro Alliance,'" Gliss's nose wrinkled as she tried to hold back a laugh. Judith rolled her eyes. "I thought maybe there could be a Girl Power Alliance. Because when it comes down to a one-on-one fight, as Hunger Games usually do, a boy will probably win out over a girl."

"Speak for yourself," Judith scoffed, flexing one arm to show off a healthy-sized bicep. "Anyways…Tullia, right?"

"Tully," she corrected.

"Tully. You seem pretty handy with a sword. Would you be interested in joining?"

Tully opened her mouth to say 'yes,' but then she paused to think about it. Alliances had imploded countless times in past Hunger Games. So many betrayals. So many allies who had been literally stabbed in the back by one of their own. She knew she wouldn't be able to trust anyone. She promised herself to always remember this simple fact. "…All right," Tully decided. "I'll join. But…we have to promise to separate peacefully once we reach a certain point."

"Oh, of course! We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Gliss assured her.

Tully paused once more, her eyes sweeping over the training center. She had found a friend in her bunkmate, Cicely. She was currently showing off her speed at the obstacle course, though there were no trainers to oversee her. Tully pointed her way. "I don't want to make any decisions for her, but can my friend join?"

"Um…sure, why not?" Gliss said hesitantly.

"I'll go ask her!"

Tully hurried off. Judith and Gliss looked at Brianne, who had continued to hover there this entire time. "What about you?"

Brianne tried to look unimposing. "I'd like to join, please. If that's okay."

She was quite surprised when the two told her yes. "But we don't want to draw any attention to ourselves. So let's split up for now and do our own thing."

Brianne smiled and obliged. But as she walked away she heard Gliss say, "Do you think I should be allowing this many people into the alliance?"

"You're fine. Honestly, most of the people in this training center look like Bloodbaths to me. They'll be weeded out in the first battle and then we'll be left with the strongest fighters."

Brianne narrowed her eyes at Judith's observation. _Is that what she thinks? Well, I'll prove them wrong. They're going to regret letting me into their alliance. _

Back in school, she had wormed her way into many groups of girls, only to tear them apart. It was all too easy to turn friends on friends with a few simple lies. Girls were so paranoid and mistrusting, at heart. That sense of paranoia would be doubled...no, tripled, in the Hunger Games. Of course, she would have to be careful. Once in a blue moon, the girls at school had figured out the source of the lies and the drama. Luckily, there had been adults to run crying to, but there wouldn't be a safe haven for her in the arena.

_Now…how to begin… _Brianne spotted a familiar purple head of hair residing at the snare station. _Hmm…_

* * *

"…So you wanna join this alliance with me?" Tully asked Cicely, after having explained the situation.

"With so many people?" Cicely asked nervously. "I don't…I don't know if I…"

"Please?" Tully said, clasping her hands. "It really seems like a good idea! They seem pretty capable. And if things start looking bad, we can always split!"

"Okay, okay," Cicely sighed. A small smile formed on her face. Tully reminded her so much of Nevaeh. _This might be a good decision, _she told herself. She was terrified of going into the Hunger Games alone. "But…what if I can't pull my weight? I'm not strong…I don't think I could ever…kill someone." The words tasted foul on her tongue.

Tully pumped her fists energetically, declaring, "Everyone will find a way to contribute! Your mom was a Gamemaker—you know all the ins and outs!"

"Not really," Cicely confessed.

"Have some confidence in yourself! If you don't feel confident in the skills you already have, pick up a new one!"

Cicely's polite smile turned into a legitimate one. "You're right. I could—focus on making shelters or setting traps."

"Exactly!" Tully gave Cicely a rough pat on the shoulder. With her tiny frame, Cicely nearly collapsed under it, but then she straightened up and continued to smile, her confidence renewed.

_They seem nice… _Junisse thought, watching the two girls walk away. She had been waiting to try the obstacle course once more and overheard their conversation. She wasn't sure she wanted to be in such a large alliance. She didn't have the courage to approach them and ask to join, anyways. So she continued to keep to herself.

"Tribute Cranton?"

Junisse snapped out of her thoughts. Head Trainer Obsidian was standing over her, staring down at her curiously.

"Did you want to try this course?" He motioned to the obstacles laid out in front of them. The moving platforms were currently still.

"Y-yes, please."

"All right, take up a club. I'll chase you."

Junisse stared at him with her wide brown eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Don't you think you'll run faster if you have someone chasing you?" Obsidian grinned.

Junisse agreed with a mute nod. And so, she spent the next hour working at the obstacle course with the head trainer. He complimented her on her stamina and her ability to adapt to any changes the obstacle course threw at her. However, she never made any use of her club and often froze when Obsidian caught up to her.

"Freeze up in the arena, and you're dead," he kept telling her over and over again. "Remember that."

During this time, the third group was selected to enter the simulation. As they lined up, Jarek came walking up with an apple 'martini' for his boss. "Aw, look! It's the kiddie group," the assistant laughed. "Look how short they are!" He gave them a friendly wave.

Reyn returned it, but Lance, Percy, and Locce didn't take kindly to being called kiddies. "Hey! Didn't you fire that guy?" Percy asked, pointing a pudgy finger at Jarek.

"Um…I hired him back out of the goodness of my heart," Head Gamemaker Corr muttered.

"Hi! I'm Jarek, Assistant Head Gamemaker," Jarek greeted cheerfully, helping each tribute into a seat.

"Assistant _to _the Head Gamemaker," Wiley Corr corrected.

Meanwhile, the real Assistant Head Gamemaker was preparing the simulation. "Everyone ready?" Jack Newman asked, once all of the headsets and wires were in place. "Good luck!"

Once again, the tributes entered the same simulation everyone else had previously witnessed. They had a full minute to admire the beauty of the city and gawk at the tribute ghosts. Then the gong rang.

Reyn immediately leaped off her plate and sprinted towards the Cornucopia, pushing her legs as fast as they could go. As the wind battered her face, she couldn't help but grin. It almost felt like she was back in the Capitol's city park—in a heated race with Davant. But instead of her friends, the strange ghosts surrounded her.

Locce just stood on his plate, observing the other tributes as they charged the Cornucopia. Instead of headed for the golden horn, Percy first ran to Lance and tucked in behind him. Locce noted that his legs moved pretty fast for a fat kid. Like they were a separate entity from the rest of his chubby body. He might have laughed, if he remembered how.

Everyone ducked inside the Cornucopia for weapons. A moment later, they reappeared. One ghost tribute began coming his way, its faceless features turned towards him.

_Why bother? _Locce thought, apathetic to his situation. He doubted any of this would make a difference in the long run. He remained where he was.

When there were a few paces between them, the tribute ghost raised its weapon—a large hammer. In that single moment, something cold seized Locce's heart, so sudden that he thought the feeling might cause his chest to explode. It filled his cavities with ice water that branched out through his veins. His eyes only had time to widen slightly as the hammer met his head with a _crack. _

Reyn gasped when she spotted Locce dissolve into pixels, as he was removed from the simulation. Then, from behind her, she heard one of the boys yelling.

"What are you DOING?!"

"What's it look like I'm doing? I'm using you as a human shield!"

Lance was struggling to fight off tribute ghosts with a spear while Percy cowered behind him. Reyn raced over to support them, dart gun in hand. She aimed for one of the ghosts and scored a direct hit. Apparently, the darts were filled with poison, because it dissipated on the spot.

"Aw yeah!" She couldn't help but let out a whoop of victory.

Lance just focused on the task at hand. He had managed to kill one ghost, but two more had sprung up to take its place. And meanwhile, Percy was constantly behind him, getting in his way.

"Okay, that's it," Lance growled.

A tribute ghost was sprinting towards him, sword at the ready. When he was nearly within range, Lance nimbly dodged around Percy, placing the chubby boy in between him and the attacking tribute.

"Hey-!" There was no time for Percy to protest. A squeal pierced the air as the sword stabbed through him. He disappeared in a flash.

_Good, _Lance thought, not feeling the least bit sorry.

Suddenly, pain flooded through his back. There was a flash of white, and the next thing he knew, he was back in the training center with that black mask covering his face. Shoot. He had been so focused on foiling Percy, that he hadn't been watching his back.

Jack Newman helped the kids out of their chairs one by one. Percy staggered to his feet, glaring at Lance through the blonde curtain of his hair. "You suck!" he spat.

"I was just returning the favor," Lance mumbled.

Reyn sprang between them, looking put out. "Man! They swarmed me after you guys dropped out. If you had tried harder to work with me, we could have taken them!" She looked purposefully at Locce.

He returned her glare with a wide-eyed stare. _No, we couldn't have, _he responded in his mind. His heart was still beating faster than usual at the simulated encounter with death. He clutched at his arms in an effort to stop them from shaking. Images of the tribute ghost with the hammer flashed through his mind, causing that icy fear to creep through him once more. _I'm not invincible and neither are you._

What came out of Reyn's mouth next shocked everyone. "Maybe we should form an alliance, like those guys did. Younger tributes should stick together, right?"

"No," Locce answered instantly.

"Heck no!" Percy seconded.

"You'd have to pay me in diamonds to be in an alliance with this guy," Lance muttered, glowering at Percy.

With that, the three boys parted ways, leaving a disappointed Reyn behind.

* * *

"Nice job, tribute! You've clearly taken some fencing lessons," Ravish exclaimed. "I haven't fought such a worthy opponent in a long time!"

She and Antony were currently facing off in a fencing match. Each had donned some body armor, and they were really going at it.

"This reminds me of a good joke I heard!" Antony shouted over the clash of their swords.

"Focus, tribute!"

"Right! Sorry!"

A few tributes had stopped to watch the display. Any tribute that expressed prowess with a weapon always became somewhat of a spectacle. Of course, they were nowhere close to the level of a bona fide Career. But it was still impressive to witness a Capitolite possessing such skills.

All day, Daphne had kept one eye trained on the other tributes. She was already beginning to pick out who were the biggest threats, and who would most likely go down early. And despite not being allowed to watch the simulation on the computer over the Gamemakers' shoulders, she still found a safe spot to witness it from.

There was a net of belts on the ceiling. They were a little difficult to access—she had to climb straight up a thick rope to get there. The rough surface had scraped her hands, but she still made it. And from such a vantage point, she had been able to watch each simulation from above.

The first batch was by far the most threatening. After they did their thing, they had practically paraded around the training center, looking smug. The second and third batches were pretty pathetic. When she had gotten the gist of things, she turned her attention to the rest of the training center. She noticed all of the alliances beginning to form. The large female alliance was the one that made her nervous. It was difficult to tell who all was in it, because they never stuck together for long. But she was certain it was the largest alliance, which could only mean trouble. Still, she had no desire to join their ranks.

Then she spotted Horatia approaching Antony after his match with Ravish. They were right beneath her. "Wow, that was amazing!" she gushed. "You're really good at sword fighting and stuff. Do you want to be in an alliance?"

_Wow, she cut straight to the chase, _Daphne thought, surprised.

"Of course!" Antony answered without hesitation. "I could never say no to someone as fabulous as you."

"Aww!" Horatia cooed.

Daphne held back a laugh, remaining perfectly still as the two walked off. Maybe the male tribute was good at fencing, but neither of them seemed to have a whole lot going on upstairs. She wasn't too worried about them and allowed her gaze to wander once more.

She spotted Eugenia at the trapping station. She had been there for a long time, constantly having to find a trainer for some instruction. But it seemed like all of her efforts were about to pay off.

Daphne watched as Eugenia dropped a dummy right onto the trap, triggering it. A rope yanked the dummy up by its throat. There, it dangled.

_Not bad, but it'll be tough catching a tribute by the throat. If anything, the best you'll do is catch their foot._

Still, after watching everyone for a while, Daphne was fairly certain she wanted Eugenia as an ally. Perhaps she would confront her about the topic tomorrow, after a little more observation.

* * *

"Hey man! Give any more thought to my request for an alliance?"

Duke looked up from the weights he was currently lifting, into the face of Ryiero. Ryiero lifted his eyebrows at the sight of the weights and let out a low whistle.

"Wow! Look at the size of those things." He approached the weight rack, and attempted to lift his own pair. They were heavier than they looked, but with some extra effort, he managed to do it.

Duke let out a long sigh. He still was uncertain as to whom he wanted to ally with. So far, the purple-haired boy with the foil was his top choice. Ryiero didn't look nearly as capable, but he knew he shouldn't write him off at first glance. Instead of answering his question, he said, "So tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?" Ryiero asked, repeatedly curling his arm as Duke was doing.

"I don't know. How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Oh. So am I," Duke said.

"Really? You look a little older…"

The conversation died for a moment while Duke thought up another topic. "…So…Ryiero, right? What did you want to do with your life before the Hunger Games took that away?" He didn't bother hiding the bitterness in his voice. "What did you want to study in school?"

Ryiero uttered a loud laugh. "Study? Yeah right! Nah, I always skipped all my classes and hung out at gym class. The gym teacher was cool with it. I'm pretty great at basketball, if I do say so myself!"

_Oh yes, what a useful skill. Maybe if they replace this year's arena with a basketball court. _"You skipped class?" Duke repeated, his voice turning cold. Despite his promise not to, he couldn't help but judge his fellow tribute. He couldn't stand people that skipped class, but still managed to claw their way up the grade system. That wasn't fair to those who came to class and worked hard.

Ryiero could sense the sudden tension. "I mean—I don't really need to know the stuff they're teaching," he spluttered, attempting to recover. "I want to be a drummer. In a rock band."

"Cool," Duke said politely, returning his weights to their rack. "Well, I'm going to go try a different station. See you."

Ryiero didn't bother pursuing him. He knew when he was unwanted. Sighing, he searched the training center for other potential allies. But everyone seemed to already be settling into alliances. Then he heard a splash and spotted a womanly figure rising out of the nearby pool.

His face instantly turned red when he saw Elara climb out, her body glistening with water. _She's hot! _Without even realizing it, Ryiero had started walking towards her, his eyes fixed on her figure. She was humming quietly to herself, wringing the water out of her long hair. She only noticed him when he was standing right over her.

"Oh! Hello," Elara said cheerfully. Her voice had a songlike quality to it, as if it were just floating over her words.

"Uh…wh-where did you get that swimsuit?" Ryiero stammered, blushing.

Elara seemed immune to his embarrassment. "I asked one of the trainers. You can change in the restroom." She went to point out the restroom's location to him, but then realized she had forgotten where it was.

Ryiero gulped, trying to get his quivering voice under control. "That's cool! H-hey, you're really nice! Do you want to be in an alliance with me?"

Elara's friendly smile dropped off her face and her misty blue eyes seemed to clear. She looked around the pool, as if hoping he was addressing someone else. "…Me?" Elara asked, placing a hand on her chest.

Ryiero nodded.

Elara giggled, reclaiming her small smile. "Oh, that's too sweet of you, really, but I'm not looking for an alliance."

Ryiero was persistent. "Please!" he begged. "I know I don't look like much, but I promise I'll be a great ally!"

"Oh, sweetie, it's not you. It's me," Elara said, waving a hand. "I'm useless. No one would want me in their alliance."

Ryiero felt like he was getting turned down for a date. "But _I _want you in my alliance. Why else would I be asking?" He tried to mimic her smile, but he could feel himself getting desperate. Why was it so hard for him to find an ally?

"I would misplace all of our weapons! My boyfriend always told me I was a klutz. And I can't clean or cook. I'm so lazy. Goodness, if I even made it past the Bloodbath, I would find some way to get myself killed early." She giggled, in an effort to make light of the situation.

Ryiero shivered. The way she spoke so calmly about the Hunger Games was unnerving. He was about to put in one last-ditch effort to convince her, but she cut him off with three simple words.

"No means no."

"All right," Ryiero said, bowing his head in defeat. "Thanks for your consideration."

Elara watched him walk away, feet dragging. _He was sweet, _she thought, letting the smile fall off her face. _I'm sure he'll find an ally somewhere. _

And so, the day dragged on. Everyone got to have his or her turn to enter the simulation. When the final hour drew to a close, the Gamemakers packed up shop and left. Before heading out the door, Wiley Corr called out to them.

"Don't forget, the victors are coming in for a visit tomorrow. I expect everyone to be on their best behavior. Until then!"


End file.
